


Another Day Another Dollar

by therebelliondies



Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Historical
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2017-11-11 22:14:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 168,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therebelliondies/pseuds/therebelliondies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Katniss is living in an over populated area of Chicago called the Seam. Join her as she traverses the hazards of living in industrial North America circa 1900 as she tries to protect her family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Hello! This is an AU fanfic that takes place in the corrupt, industrialized city of Chicago at the turn of the twentieth century. Some details about the city will be false just because I didn’t live then and I can’t possibly research every fact in the time I have. Katniss is 16 when the story starts. Hopefully characters won’t be too OOC though they might be at times despite my best efforts.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games

            Loud sirens go off outside the walls of the dingy schoolroom. I look out the window and nothing has visibly changed since a moment ago. The sky is still that same drab grey that it was this morning, threatening of snow. The few scraggly trees in the schoolyard are still bare and a cold wind makes its way through the cracks in the windowsill to wrap its icy fingers around us.

            Our teacher looks up though and I see fear cross her face. Something bad has happened.

            “What are those sirens, Sister Margaret?” Kathleen Cleary asks from the very front of the room. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a smart ponytail tied with a red ribbon that perfectly matches her new red velvet dress.

            “It’s the sirens for the mine out at the edge of the city.” The youthful woman answers evenly, erasing any traces of fear from her face. Her nonchalance doesn’t pass by all of us though. Several students start to whisper. I stay silent but my heart starts to thud twice as fast and as hard as it was only moments before.

            “Now please open your readers to-“

            “Aren’t we going to do anything?” Gale Hawthorne demands, standing quickly from his seat two rows over from me. He’s my best friend and two years older but we’re in the same classroom. This room holds grades nine, ten, eleven, and twelve. There are forty-three of us in all but they don’t have enough room or teachers to separate the grades.

            “No, Mr. Hawthorne, we are not going to do anything. You are in school and we are going to continue with our work.” Sister Margaret informs him sternly. I don’t miss the pitying glance she sends him with her piercing blue eyes however.

            “My father is out there!” Gale shouts, slamming his book shut.

            “I’m sorry to hear that, dear. There are several of your classmates who are in the same situation as you however and you don’t notice them disrupting class, do you?” She peers over her glasses.

            “No, but-“

            “But nothing, Mr. Hawthorne. You will sit down immediately and you will be staying after class tomorrow to write out lines for me. Now everyone please turn to page fifty eight and who would like to start reading for us?” Sister Margaret states, firmly closing the topic. Gale slumps loudly into his seat and crosses his arms, not making any move to open his reader again. He looks a sight, tall with broad shoulders and pitch-black hair. He would remind me of the angry giants in fairytales if I weren’t so tied up in my worrisome thoughts.

            Kathleen Cleary’s hand shoots up into the air the moment the question leaves Sister Margaret’s mouth but the older woman gazes around the room a moment, looking for other, less willing, prey. I duck my head and hunch my back trying to make myself as insignificant as possible. It’s not difficult. I’m seated behind Bobby Bokowski, a swarthy nineth year who dwarfs me even though I’m a year older. Half the time, I can’t even see the board over his head but I don’t mind much. School has never been one of my great interests.

            “Peeta Mellark, why don’t you read for us today?” Sister Margaret asks, though everyone knows it’s really a demand.

            I look to the curly blond haired boy who is seated on the far side of the room in the seat closest to the door. Unlike most of the boys in our class, he’s dressed in a clean, perfectly pressed, three pieced, navy blue suit. His shirt is white as fresh snow and stiffly starched by one of his servants at home. He nods slightly and begins to read in a soft lilting voice that doesn’t seem possible from a boy.

            Like Kathleen Cleary, Peeta Mellark is one of the richest children in the classroom. His mother comes from a long line of money that hails from the textile industry and his father’s money is all tied up in grain mills outside of the city. He’s rich enough that his parents could afford to get him a personal tutor but for some reason they haven’t, not for him or his two older brothers.

            I can’t listen to a word he reads however, instead tapping my fingers nervously on the desk as I wait for the minutes to tick by before the end of school. My father works in the mines alongside Gale’s and I know enough about mines to know that a siren means men have died. Accidents that warrant the sirens never turn out well for the workers.

            A bell rings from the hallway and I jump up from my seat, gathering my books in a hurry and snatching my cloak from the hook along the wall before dashing down the hall. Gale is right beside me, taking long, quick strides toward the front doors of the school building.

            “You find Prim, Catnip, I’ll wait for you by the gate.” He says, his voice deep and brooding. I’m sure he’s imagining everything that could have happened to our fathers. I watch his broad back retreat with wide eyes frozen for a moment, unable to search for my sister.

            In contrast to Peeta’s prim and proper outfit, Gale, like most of the Seam boys, wears yesterday’s white cotton shirt, fraying ever so slightly at the cuffs. Most of the boys don’t have suit jackets, flaunting their suspenders proudly, declaring they aren’t one of the wealthy industrialists from the outer city limits. His pants are faded grey and probably an inch or two too short. As he walks out the door he slips his cap on over the unruly dark hair so commonly found in the Seam.

            Finally I snap out of my paralyzing fear and start looking frantically for my little sister, Primrose Everdeen. The hallways are flooded now with students and I stand on my tiptoes searching for that tiny blonde head of hair. I catch a glimpse of the shiny golden locks before an eleventh grade boy steps in my way.

            “Prim!” I shout over the general chatter of students after a long day of class.

            “Katniss?” I hear her sweet voice answer and I push my way through the crowd towards her.

            “Come on. Gale is waiting. There was an accident at the mine.” I say grabbing her hand and hurrying out into the cold, winter air that’s blowing through the schoolyard.

            Gale isn’t hard to spot fidgeting next to the front gate. He’s tall, even though he’s not quite eighteen yet. As I rush across the dead grass of the yard, I notice several girls from his grade giving him sideward glances as they whisper with friends. He must be attractive to those who are destined to live in the Seam. We already know our future is planned out for us. Gale’s broad and strong, the silent, brooding, mysterious type. He’ll be a good worker in the factories, which is no doubt where he’ll end up, a dead end job for the dead end world we’ve been born into.

            I make my way across the yard but before I make it to Gale, someone steps between us. I look up to brilliant, sky blue eyes. It’s Peeta Mellark. I duck my head and move to walk around him but he takes a hold of my free hand. I look up at him when he squeezes it lightly and I yank it away from him with a frown. My mother is always reprimanding me about my frowns. They’re not ladylike she says but I can’t help it when people like Peeta Mellark clearly overstep their boundaries. Prim watches all of this with wide, silent eyes.

            “I really hope your father is okay.” Peeta says with a small, reassuring smile. He glances to Prim as well and nods. My frown deepens but he walks away before I can say anything to him. He’s never spoken to me before and he picks today of all days? Prim tugs nervously at my hand and I hurriedly cross the rest of the grass to where Gale is standing.

            “Let’s go.” Gale says, taking off the second we’re within hearing distance. Prim practically has to jog to keep up with our longer gait but she doesn’t complain, she just glances up at me with scared blue eyes every so often as if looking for answers I don’t have.

            It’s almost an hour’s journey to our home in the Seam. The Seam is a dirty, rundown, overpopulated area of the city. No Mellarks or Cleary would dare set foot on this side of town for fear that it might besmirch their family name. It’s where most of the workers from the factories live, barely making ends meet.

            Prim and I jump over a particularly large puddle filled with mud and some unidentifiable liquid. The streets here are paved, but just barely, only well enough to ensure the freight trucks can get through. It’s only another block before we reach the high-rise we’ve lived in since I was born. Gale lives in the next building over so we part ways.

            “I’ll send word if I hear any news, Catnip.” He says, never looking back as he walks up the front steps of his building.

            “We’ll do the same, Gale.” I reply, dragging Prim by the hand as we head up the six flights of stairs to our apartment.

            I open the door and Iris is there nursing her newborn, Stella. Our family shares the apartment with two other families so we can afford the rent. In all, there are ten of us that live in the three-bedroom apartment, each family getting one room to themselves and sharing all the other living space.

            “Is my mom here Iris?” I ask the haggard looking young woman.

            “She eis back in ‘our ‘oom.” She replies with her heavy accent. She had immigrated here with her husband Daniel while she was still pregnant, hoping for a better life for their new family. I still don’t think she’s admitted to herself that they had the wool pulled over their eyes.

            “Thanks.” I say, wasting no time on pleasantries as I brush past her. Prim gives a polite wave, always the friendlier sister of us two.

            “Mom?” I call as I push the door open. The room is tiny and the second the door is open I spot her sitting on the mattress in the corner, wringing her hands in her lap. “Is dad okay? Have you heard anything?”

            She shakes her head silently, clearly too distraught to speak. Her eyes are distant, glazed over with the horrors of whatever might be happening to my father inside her mind. Prim hurries to her side and sits at her feet, resting her head on my mother’s knee. There’s nothing to do now but wait so I go to the kitchen area and start fixing something for us all to eat, making sure there’s enough for my father once he arrives home.

            Night falls on the city though and no one returns. I sit on the windowsill of the bedroom and watch the clouds break up, revealing a bright, nearly full, moon. Mother and Prim have fallen asleep in each other’s arms and their heavy, even breathing is the only noise in the room.

            I watch the moon set before there’s a knock at the front door. I jump up immediately, heart pounding in my throat. Maybe dad lost his keys to the apartment in the accident and he’s home but he needs me to open the door. I can hear Stella start to cry in the bedroom on the opposite side of the apartment.

            I slide the chain and swing the door open with more force than necessary.

            “Catnip.” Gale says softly, his grey eyes never meeting my own. My heart plummets to my toes. I know what he’s going to say before the words leave his mouth. “They didn’t make it out.”

            “Are you sure, Gale? How do you know?” I whisper, eyes wide, clinging to hope for one last moment.

            “Randal came by. He was down there with them. They didn’t make it out.” He looks at me now, eyes filled with tears and terror.

            _They_.

            “Gale, not your dad too.” I whisper, wrapping my trembling arms around myself.

            He nods silently, his arms gathering me against him before I can collapse to the ground. We both sit in the doorway of the apartment for a long while as the sky lightens to a predawn, murky grey. Tears streak my face silently and Gale’s shaky breaths tell me either he’s crying too or he’s struggling to hold it back.

            “What are we going to do?” I whisper, breaking the silence.

            I feel him shake his head, his chin brushing the top of my head.

            “I’m not sure.” He says, softly, sounding like a boy rather than the man he’ll be expected to be now. “Get a job somewhere I guess.”

            “Not in the mines, Gale. Promise me you won’t-“

            “I won’t Catnip. I can’t.” He cuts me short, “I’ll find work somewhere else. Will you be able to make it with just your mother’s pay?”

            It’s a valid question. Gale’s future is now set. His family is too large with four children to feed for him to imagine anything else. He’ll supplement his mother’s income now by working in a factory somewhere in the city. I might still be able to stay in school though. My mother is a healer, self-trained, and she brings in a fair amount of money. It might be enough to feed our tiny family.

            “I’m not sure. Perhaps.” I reply.

            Stella wails loudly from the bedroom, bringing us back to reality, a new harsher one than yesterday. The sky is washed out grey now and I can hear the building waking up through its thin walls and floors.

            “I need to get back to my family.” Gale says, removing his arms from around me and standing. Neither of us looks the other in the eye as we brush nonexistent dust from our clothing. We’re both much to old to be embracing like that. My mother would be frantic if she’d seen us; that is if she were in her right mind.

            “I need to tell them.” I whisper and finally look up.

            He gives me a sad look, “I’m sorry, Katniss.”

            “I’m sorry too, Gale.” I say, reaching to squeeze his hand lightly before he walks out the door and heads down the stairs back to his own apartment building.

            When I return to the bedroom, my mother and Prim are still asleep. I consider waking them for a moment to tell them the news but I decide against it. Let them have a few more hours, minutes even, where they don’t have to know; where they can still hold hope that my father is coming home. I wish I still had that time.

…

            “No!” Prim cries out when I break the news. “No, Katniss, no!”

            “I’m sorry, Prim.” I murmur, pulling her into my arms and rocking her gently.

            My mom hasn’t said anything. She’s just sitting there on the bed, motionless, like a statue in one of those fancy museums we hear about that the wealthy industrialists like to visit. Her eyes are distant again but they seem farther away this time and I wonder if she’ll be able to find her way back to us. Her expression is blank, not sad, not angry, just completely void of anything.

            We skip school. Prim still hasn’t stopped crying and I can’t force her to leave my mother’s side, even if the latter isn’t here with us anymore. Mom doesn’t move all day. I ask her if she has anyone that she’s supposed to see. I tell her I can send word that she’s sick and won’t be there today. But my mother doesn’t answer; she doesn’t even glance at me. It’s as though I haven’t even spoken.

            The coroner comes by in the afternoon. He says my father’s body couldn’t be recovered. It’s a blessing really. We couldn’t afford to bury him anyway. The coroner reports that someone made an error in judgment that caused a piece of machinery to explode down in the mineshaft. The explosion triggered a cave in and the rest is what one would expect from such a story- over a dozen men killed.

            My father had been working eighteen-hour shifts for the past two weeks. There has been a spike in demand for coal so the bosses compensated for it by making the men work double shifts rather than hiring more men. My father could have easily been the one who made a foolish mistake, common sense run down by lack of sleep.

            That night Prim curls up next to my mother’s frozen form again. I sleep with a blanket on the floor hoping that I can hold it together. Tears escape my eyes silently and I hold back sobs. I don’t want Prim to hear me crying, it will only upset her. I don’t know how much help my mother is going to be anymore I just hope she comes around enough to return to work soon.

…

            Days pass in a blur. Prim and I return to school but mother doesn’t leave the apartment. She is still far away from us, in another world and I’m afraid I might never be able to bring her back.

            Days turn into months and nothing changes except for the cupboards. There’s no food left in them anymore and the money envelope under the mattress in our bedroom only has a few coins left.

            I’ve tried to stretch the food in hopes that mother will come back soon and earn money again. I make sure Prim gets as much as I can but it’s still beginning to show on her face. Her cheeks are hollowing out each day and her skin is starting to take on a sickly color that so many Seam children bear. My own ribs have been showing for weeks now but there’s nothing to be done about it. Prim has to come first and I’m even failing at taking care of her. She’s still too young to suffer.

            I sit at my desk one morning, my stomach gnawing at itself hungrily. It’s been days since I ate anything. I don’t remember how long exactly; I try not to think about it. I pick at my nails, not bothering to listen to Sister Margaret at the front of the room. She’s teaching some sort of arithmetic but I’m beginning to realize that I will not need to know all of this stuff, especially if I end up in the factories, which looks to be where my future is headed.

            I glance over to Gale’s empty desk. He’s found work in the meat-packing factory, slaughtering the cattle that come in. It’s dirty, tiring work but he’s making four dollars a week, more than most workers his age. I’ve hardly seen him at all since he began working there and I miss him more than I can put into words. He only gets Sunday off and he spends most of the day sleeping or spending time with the family he hardly ever gets to see anymore.

            I’m going to start looking for work today. Mother still hasn’t come out of her blues, or whatever it is, no matter how much I’ve begged her to. She’s lost to us but I can’t let my family starve to death while she’s stuck in her mind.

            “Miss Everdeen, come to the board and solve this equation for us.” Sister Margaret calls out, bringing me back from my reveries. I look up in surprise. She’s staring at me with a disapproving gaze and I know she only called on me because I haven’t been attentive today.

            I look at the problem on the board and I haven’t the faintest idea how to go about solving it but I know that arguing with Sister will only lead to time after school, which I can’t afford. I stand and walk slowly up to the board.

            “Didn’t she wear that dress three times already this week?” Fay Wright whispers under her breath. Sister doesn’t hear it but several students do and I hear Kathleen snicker in her pretty pale green dress.

            Fay is right of course. I sold all but two of my dresses to buy food. This one is one of my older ones, sky blue and a bit big for me since I’ve lost so much weight after my father died. I know the hem is fraying and permanently stained from mud splashing up on it as I walk home. It’s also several inches too short, showing more of my ankle than is proper. It’s all I have however and I try not to let her comments bother me. I know they shouldn’t.

            I pick up the chalk and stare at the problem, which might as well be written in a foreign language. I turn the white stick in my fingers and begin to write some form of work on the board.

            It doesn’t take long for Kathleen to pipe up in a whisper loud enough for the entire class to hear, “What is she stupid? Maybe they should put her in an institution with the other retards.”

            “That’s enough!” Sister Margaret calls out sharply. “Sit down, Katniss, and might I suggest you pay closer attention from now on.”

            My cheeks flush bright red, aflame with anger and shame. I duck my head in hopes that no one will take notice as I walk quickly back to my seat.

            “Eww.” Fay squeals, “She smells like the pigs down at the packing factory.”

            “Silence!” Sister shouts, “The next student to speak out of turn will be writing lines after school.”

            The older woman then continues on with lecture, ignoring the quiet snickers of the students in the room. Stupid tears well up in my eyes and I blink quickly to hold them back. I shouldn’t let snotty girls like Kathleen Cleary and Fay Wright who live on the wealthy outer limits of the city and don’t have a lick of sense. But that’s all easier said than done when they’re sitting here next to me and nothing seems to have gone right in such a very long time.

            Near lunchtime, everyone seems to have forgotten about me, the skinny Seam girl in the back corner. I glance up and see that everyone is working on an essay prompt that is written on the blackboard. I don’t have any interest in starting the assignment now so I look around the room. Everyone is bowed over their work except for Peeta, who I catch staring at me. He ducks his head and begins writing as soon as our eyes meet.

            Lovely. So not everyone has forgotten about the brainless girl in the back of the room. The strange, rich boy is still watching.

…

            When the lunch bell rings, I wait until the classroom empties before I make my way to the stark, white lunchroom. There are small, round tables situated everywhere throughout the room and benches along the wall. I glance to the back wall where Gale and I would sit next to one another with our sandwiches.

            After Gale left school to work in the factory, Madge Undersee started to sit next to me occasionally. We never really speak but I guess she just pities me, or something. Her father is the mayor of the city so I have no idea why she would have any real interest in a girl from the Seam. He has certainly never taken a moment to glance our way. She could easily be one of the most popular girls at school if she wanted. She’s beautiful with full, blonde curls and crisp pretty dresses but for some reason she chooses to sit next to me. She’s nice enough I suppose, never laughing at my expense, so I don’t mind sitting next to her on most days.

            I make my way back to my wall now. Madge hasn’t been in class today so figure I’ll be sitting alone today. I pull my knees to my chest as I sit and wrap my arms around them in hopes that this will help with the pain in my stomach. Mother would be appalled by my manners but I’m so hungry and she isn’t around to help us. I don’t have anything to eat today. I used the last of the dry, stale bread to make Prim half of a sandwich for lunch. That’s the last of the food, despite my going hungry to stretch our resources. I don’t know what I’m going to do if I don’t find work. My stomach growls angrily at me as I think this.

…

            “Prim, you go straight home, dear.” I say as we walk out of school together at the end of the day. She nods miserably. It’s silly that I even tell her this. It’s not as if she has any energy to go run around with her friends. “I’m going to find some work. I’ll be home for supper.” I don’t mention that even if I do find work, we won’t have anything to eat tonight. I won’t be earning any money this afternoon with which to buy groceries.

            She starts off in the direction of the Seam, her steps dragging as she does. I’m just about to head toward the industrial part of the city when I have a thought. I wait for the school to clear out and run around the back of the building. I glance over my shoulder as I lift the lid quietly off of one of the metal trashcans. It’s mostly scraps of paper but I manage to find a slightly mangled half of a sandwich and an apple with only one bite taken out of it. They’ll make a descent supper for Prim.

            I squirrel these away into my bag and glance over my shoulder again. I get the feeling that someone is watching me. I squint at the shadows under the overhangs of the surrounding buildings and don’t see anything so I shrug the feeling off. If it were Kathleen or Fay, they would already be out here pointing in my face and chanting humiliating rhymes at me.

            I half run to the factory section of the city after that, in a hurry after being put behind schedule by my garbage search. I earn several strange looks, mixed with the occasional glare. A lady doesn’t run, especially not through city streets.

            I start at the hat-making factory, a long, narrow, dim building where working women sit, bent silently over the fancy hats that women who have never worked a day in their lives wear. The forewoman there looks me up and down from over the tip of her nose and tells me there’s no work there.

            Next I try the canning factory. It smells awful and it’s hot even with the cool end-of-winter air outside. The foreman states he’s just hired three kids today and doesn’t need another one until one of them looses his hand. The meatpacking factory’s foreman laughs when he sees me. He doesn’t need a half-dead, emaciated girl to work on his line lifting one hundred pound cuts.

            The sun sets behind the tall buildings and a cold wind picks up forcing me to pull my thin jacket tighter around me as I return home in shame. How will I tell Prim? How am I going to keep us alive?

…

            Prim masks her disappointment well when I tell her I still haven’t found work, happily eating her dinner. I tell her I already ate the other half of the sandwich and that I’m not in the mood for an apple today. Prim seems to take my explanation as the truth and doesn’t try to share with me. I spoon feed my mother warm water. She doesn’t need the food. She’s already given up anyway.

            “Katniss, you look so tired.” Prim remarks as she finishes off the sandwich and licks her fingers.

            I give my best attempt at a smile, “I’m okay, little duck.” I say tugging at the end of her blouse that’s managed to escape her skirt. “Let’s get you a bath.”

            I draw up water from the tap into the large tub that sits in the corner of the living room. We’re lucky enough to have running water in the apartment but it’s all cold and there’s no bathroom. There’s a communal toilet down the hall for us to share with the dozen other families on our floor but we have to make due with a scrub tub for our baths. I throw the tattered sheet over a string that’s fixed from the two corners of the wall, effectively walling off the area and giving her privacy. She washes up and I brush her hair for her before braiding it down her back.

            “There. All squeaky clean for school tomorrow.” I murmur as I tie the braid off. I kiss the back of her damp head, “Now go get some rest. I’ll be in as soon as I’m done.”

            “Okay. Goodnight, Katniss.” Prim responds sleepily as she stands and crosses the room, “Katniss?” She asks, turning as she reaches the doorway of our bedroom to look at me again.

            “Yeah, Prim?” I question tiredly.

            “I love you.” She says in her sweet, innocent voice.

            I smile, “I love you too, Little Duck.”

            She smiles before going into the room and shutting the door after her. I strip down and scrub my skin clean of the grime that it seems to attract here in the Seam. I scrub until the skin is sore and pink before I towel off and slip into my father’s old shirt which now functions as my nightgown.

            I pull the sheet down and empty the tub out the window and into the alley before sitting on the couch to brush out my hair. The front door opens and Daniel walks in, looking exhausted and entirely drunk. He gives a haphazard grin.

            “Katnissss.” He slurs and touches his fingers to his forehead as though he forgets he’s not wearing a hat.

            “Daniel.” I reply, hoping he’ll leave our encounter at that. I begin quickly braiding my hair as he collapses on the couch next to me though and dashes my hope.

            “’ow you do, pretty girl like you? You have courting yet?” His accent isn’t as thick as Iris’s but his words are so heavy with liquor it’s still hard to understand him.

            “I’m fine. And no, not yet. Stella is getting so big.” I comment hoping to distract him and remind him why he shouldn’t be out this late drinking. Heaven knows he can’t afford it with the new baby.

            His eyes go somewhat cross as he tries to remember who Stella is. He smiles when he does, “She a beautiful girl. You think?”

            “She is lovely. I’m retiring for the night.” I say standing and gathering the clothes I wore today and will wear again tomorrow. “Goodnight, Daniel.”

            “’night, Katnissss.” He calls, waving a drunken hand from his slumped position on the couch.

…

            “I don’t have anything to send with you for lunch.” I admit to Prim the next morning, “I’m sorry.”

            I hadn’t thought so far in advance as to think about lunch for today. I should have saved the apple or kept digging for more food.

            “It’s okay, Katniss.” She says with her bravest smile, placing a comforting hand on my cheek, “I’m not really even hungry anyway.”

            I kiss her forehead wordlessly and gently push her towards her classroom before I can start crying. She’s little but she’s so brave and kind. It breaks my heart to know that she’s going hungry. No child should have to feel that. The bell rings for classes to start and I shakily make my way to the classroom.

            The morning drags on and I once again can’t focus on anything Sister Margaret is saying. Instead, I watch the rain tap away at the windows. Sister seems to have given up on forcing me to pay attention and leaves me to my own devices in the back of the room. Maybe she even feels a bit guilty about subjecting me to the sneers of my classmates yesterday.

            When the bell rings for lunch, I slowly make my way down the hallway. I have no energy and I don’t know how my feet are still moving. At the door to the cafeteria, I change my mind and turn around. Madge is sitting against the wall right near my spot. I don’t want her to see I don’t have anything to eat. I’ve already heard enough snarky comments from the other schoolgirls this week. Madge has never been the type to make fun but I really don’t feel like taking the chance today. I don’t have anything left in me.

            Instead, I make my way outside into the rain and find an overhang to sit under. The rain still catches me a bit but what little shelter it gives is more than enough for me. I don’t need to be comfortable. A moment later, I’m huddled into a tiny ball up against the wall, sobbing pitifully for the first time since my father died.

            I’ve failed. My family is going to starve and I can’t save them. My father had always worked himself to the bone to make sure we had what we needed; not always what we wanted but what we needed. Prim never knew real hunger until now. I miss him so much my chest aches when I try to breathe. The bell rings signaling that there are ten minutes left before class starts again but I don’t make a move. I can’t go back in there. I can’t bring myself to move again.

            I don’t notice the footsteps squishing through the grass right away but when they’re about three paces from me I do and I sit up, quickly wiping my tear-swollen eyes. When I glance up, it’s the shock of damp, blonde hair, and blue eyes laced with concern that I see first then the tentative smile.

            “Hi Katniss.” Peeta says in that impossibly gentle voice he’s known for.

            I don’t answer, instead pulling the sleeve of my dirty, threadbare dress across my nose in the most unladylike fashion.

            He clears his throat and pulls a white paper bag out from behind his back and holds it out to me, “My mother said the foreman at the textile mill on Wilby is looking for workers.”

            I frown and sniffle as I hesitantly reach for the bag. It’s heavy when I take it from him. He smiles contentedly as I open the crinkly paper bag. Inside is half a loaf of dark, heavy, baker’s bread- a bit crumbly, but still perfectly edible. I look up with wide eyes.

            He nods and continues to smile. Why is he doing this? Where did he get this bread? I look around his legs to see where my classmates must be hiding, laughing at the girl who would get excited over half a loaf of old bread. I can’t see any of them though.

            I don’t like handouts. Handouts mean that I’m in debt to someone and my father always taught me that one never wants to be in debt. A person can be manipulated and buried in the ground financially if they start taking handouts and loans. But I think of Prim and how her stomach must be gnawing away inside of her just as mine is. I can’t let my little sister starve, even if that means taking bread from a boy I hardly know. I wait a moment for Peeta to change his mind and snatch the bag back from me with a haughty laugh but he doesn’t. Peeta isn’t cruel like that. I make the split decision to take this bread no matter what it might mean I owe him. And I know that I’ll owe him not only my own but my family’s life as well. I fold the bag shut again and quickly stand before taking off for the school doors. Peeta doesn’t call out after me and I don’t chance a look back. Instead, I hurry into the cafeteria and find little Prim, watching her friends as they finish their lunches.

            “Prim, come with me.” I murmur in her ear, ignoring the strange looks I receive as though no one has ever seen a rain soaked, muddy girl before. I look down and admit I probably am a sight. My dress will need to be washed before tomorrow to get all the mud out of it but right now I don’t care. We have food. My heart has wings.

            “Katniss what are we doing?” My sweet little sister asks when I pull her into the gymnasium behind the set of wooden bleachers. This place doesn’t get much use besides the basketball team that the boys have started but it makes for the perfect secret lunch.

            “Here.” I say pulling a chunk of bread from the bag.

            She looks up at me in shock, “Where did you get it?” She asks as she takes the bread from my hands and starts devouring it.

            “Found it sitting in the middle of the hallway.” I lie, “Someone must have meant to throw it out and dropped it on the way to lunch.”

            She doesn’t argue and I help myself to the delicious, grainy bread that is a little stiff but still melts in my mouth. Prim smiles delightedly through a mouthful and I laugh, not even bothering to put a hand over my mouth. We eat until we’ve finished half of the bread, which takes us way past the bell signaling the start of class.

            “We’re very late.” Prim remarks as we crawl out from behind the bleachers.

            “It’s okay. Just tell your teacher you were sick.” I say walking to the end of her hallway with her, “I’m going to see about a job now. You head straight home after the end of class. I’ll see you there.”

            “You’re skipping class?” She asks, brow furrowed in worry.

            I smile, “It’s alright, Little Duck. I probably won’t be in school after today if I can help it.”

            She smiles back easily, “Okay, Katniss. I’ll see you at home.”

            She walks into her classroom and I hurry out of the school before one of the sisters can stop me and drag me back to class. I make my way to Wilby Street with little difficulty and a full stomach. The air is hazy and humid when I open the door to the textile factory.

            “What’s your business here girl?” The foreman asks when I find him, shouting over the loud whirring of the machines as he walks down the narrow path between them.

            “I’m looking for work and I heard you might have some.” I reply, trying my best to sound older than I am.

            He looks me over skeptically, “You’re kinda scraggly, kid.”

            “I’m a hard worker though. You wouldn’t regret it.” I say, straightening up and raising my chin, anything that might make me seem bigger.

            “How old are you?” He asks, still not convinced.

            “Sixteen.” I reply easily.

            “Well, I won’t pay you as an adult.” He says, rubbing a hand over his short, black beard. “You’ll get two and a half dollars a day. Fourteen hour shifts. Four A.M. to 6 P.M.”

            “Deal.” I say, not about to haggle a better deal as I stick a hand out to him and keep the smile from my face.

            “I’m Claudius Templesmith, your new foreman. If you’re late, you’re fired.” He says taking my hand and giving it a firm shake with a phony, toothy smile.

            “Yes, sir.” I reply as he turns and walks away from me. I suppose that’s my cue to leave.

            Once I’m out on the streets again, I let the smile spread across my face. It’s raining harder now and I’m quickly soaked to the bone but it doesn’t bother me one bit. Today I’m flying as I walk home, my feet barely touching the ground as I do.

            I swing the door open to the apartment and Prim is there sitting with Iris and Jeanie, the wife of John and part of the other family living with us.

            “Katniss! How did it go?” Prim asks excitedly, her smile mirroring my own.

            “I got a job.” I say shrugging as though it isn’t the best news we’ve had in months. Prim squeals happily.

            “That’s so wonderful!” She hurries over to give me a hug, “Katniss, you’re soaked through. We need to get this dress off you before you catch your death.”

            “Oh, Prim, I’ll be fine.” I brush off but allow her to lead me to our bedroom.

            “Mom, Katniss got a job today.” Prim announces to our mother who is huddled up in the blankets in bed. “Isn’t that wonderful news?”

            Our mother doesn’t respond though. She merely continues to stare out the window at the grey sky. I don’t know what I expected but I guess I hoped she might come back to us if I got a job. That doesn’t appear to be the case however. At least now I’ll be able to provide for Prim.

            As I lay with my blanket trying to fall asleep, Peeta’s blue eyes find their way to the forefront of my mind. I owe him everything now. Not only did he save our lives with the bread, he gave me that tip about the job. I can’t get my mind around the gesture and I’m sure he’ll want something in return for his help. I don’t like being in debt but it’s worth it if it saves Prim’s life.

…

            “You stand here and take care of this machine. You change the spools as they run out and clear any jams. Don’t get your hands too close to these and make sure that pretty braid of yours doesn’t get in the machine. I don’t need to throw out an entire bolt of fabric because you bleed all over it.” Mr. Templesmith shouts over the din of the factory at four thirty the next morning. “You understand, kid?”

            “Yes sir.” I reply and take up the station that he’s indicated.

            “Rue!” Mr. Templesmith calls out and I watch as a girl, not much older than Prim, crawls out from the underside of my machine. She straightens up and brushes copious amounts of dust from her skirts. Her skin is the color of coffee with cream and she has wide doe eyes.

            “Yes, Mr. Templesmith.” The little girl replies, standing straight and tall as she addresses him.

            “You make sure Katniss here stays out of trouble, understand?” Rue looks over at me shyly and nods. Mr. Templesmith is pleased with her response and heads off to his office that overlooks the entire factory.

            “Do you have any questions about your job, Miss Katniss?”

            I smile down at the tiny girl. No one has ever called me Miss Katniss before. It’s odd to hear the combination from a girl that I’m only four years older than.

            “None that come to mind. Thank you. What is it you do, Rue?” I question.

            “I un-jam the machines from underneath. A lot of things go wrong that you can only fix from underneath.” She explains sweetly, hopping onto the tips of her toes as she does.

            I look at the massive, churning machines before me and cringe. It must be a dangerous job to be under them, sticking one’s hands into the gears and cylinders. They hire children like Rue because they’re the only ones who can fit between all the machinery. They also pay them pennies on the dollar compared to what they pay an average worker.

            “You just be careful too, Rue.” I muse. She smiles and nods before scurrying back under the machines to one particular gear making a horrid screeching sound.

            It’s so loud here. I almost miss the silence of my old schoolroom during essay writing but then I remember that Prim will have food in her belly tonight. I managed to convince Templesmith to give me the day’s pay at the end of my shift. It’s an unusual allowance since normally workers are only paid on Friday however this grant will get my family through the rest of the week until I receive my first week’s pay.

            The day is long, the hours stretching on forever until a thirty-minute lunch break. Rue slides out from under a machine just down the row from me and smiles shyly in my direction. The factory bell rings moments later and everything whirs to a stop leaving only the chatter of the factory workers to fill the silence.

            “We’re going to eat at The Hob. It’s the only place around that serves lunch.” Rue explains when I walk up next to her as everyone files out of the factory. “Do you want to come with?”

            I shake my head, “Maybe tomorrow.” I say softly.

            “Are you sure? You don’t have a sack with you that you brought your lunch in.” Rue points out, looking to my empty hands for good measure.

            She narrows her dark, doe-eyes at me, “If you don’t have the coin, I can loan it to you today. Sae has the cheapest prices in the district.”

            I shrug. As a working girl she probably understands my plight better than most but I don’t like the idea of taking handouts even if they are small and I do intend to pay them back.

            “Come on. You come with us, I insist. You can pay me back at the end of the week.” Rue places a hand on my arm and then quickly retracts it as though she’s been burnt. She looks up at me, her eyes wide with shock. She looks as though the wind might blow her over she’s frozen so stiff with fear.

            I frown and it takes me a minute to understand her fear. Then realization dawns on me. I could have her beaten for touching me like that and if I were someone like Kathleen Cleary I probably would. Those on the outskirts of the city, who have big houses, can also afford servants, which are almost always blacks. Those types of people think themselves above people with dark skin just because theirs is flawless and white. It’s a bunch of bologna if you ask me. Rue has already proven herself just as capable as any white little girl at work today. She’s sweet and hardworking and I’d be fooling myself if I said I was superior to her. If anything, she should be above me. Everyone knows I’m not sweet though I suppose I work just as hard as she does.

            “It’s okay.” I say with a smile, “And okay, I’ll come with you.”

            “I’m sorry.” Rue whispers, ducking her head.

            “I said it’s okay.” I assure her, placing a hand on her willowy shoulder. “I mean it. There’s no sense in me pretending I’m any different or better than you. This isn’t the south for heaven’s sake.”

            Rue nods and swallows dryly as we walk into the dark, dusty building that they call The Hob. A crudely painted sign tells me that it’s the name of this tavern and it’s open six days a week eleven to two. There’s an odd smell in the air but the building is well kept by Seam standards. It’s also packed with factory workers stuffing themselves with stale looking bread and a somewhat watery soup with unidentifiable ingredients.

            Rue tells me to sit down at a table near the back as she goes to fetch two meals for us. It’s best if she sits further back- people won’t notice her then. There are several tables with black men seated at them but they all seem to have clustered along the back wall. It must be some unspoken rule. I make my way through the crowded dining room, past men who smell of sweat and hard work already and the day is only half over. There are plenty of women around the room as well though they are far outnumbered and tend to stick around the edges, chatting demurely while eyeing some of the more brawny boys.

            Once I’m seated, I can take a better look around. Behind the bar is an ancient looking woman serving up the food for the day and a man in his mid-thirties. He’s drinking some form of brown liquor even though it’s still early in the day and watching the room with a bored look.

            Rue returns to the table and we dig in. I still can’t tell what’s in the soup but it’s warm and tastes good enough going down. My stomach gurgles happily after the first few bites and I slow down, noticing that Rue is watching me with a knowing look. My mother would be mortified by my eating habits of late. I dab my napkin across my lips like the lady my mother taught me to be. As I do, my attention is diverted for a moment by the man at the bar who is hollering at one of the patrons about something.

            I turn back to Rue, “Who is that man?”

            Rue gives a sad little smile, “That’s the owner Haymitch Abernathy.” She leans over the table and lowers her voice conspiratorially, “He’s a drunk but everyone turns a blind eye to it since he has the lowest prices around. Come five o’clock this place will be packed again with factory workers. At nine o’clock he has girls that perform.”

            I blush as Rue divulges the nightlife of The Hob. Apparently, the place is packed nightly with run down, tired men who can’t afford to be there but willingly throw their money at Haymitch and his girls anyway.

            “I’ve never been here at night, but from what I hear it’s actually rather tame compared to the mobster cabarets.” Rue admits.

            She’s probably right. I’ve never heard whispers about the things that go on at The Hob but I have heard about the mobster cabarets where the women hardly wear a scrap of fabric and flaunt around stage seductively. They’re one of reasons there are so many church reformers in the city now. The churches are trying to save the souls of all the damned heathens of the Seam who hang around in those sorts of establishments. The movement has been largely unsuccessful from what I understand however. They can’t touch anyone the mob doesn’t want them to.

            I blush again and try for a change of subject, “And the woman there, who is she?”

            “That’s Sae. She’s the cook- only works during lunch and supper. They nicknamed her Greasy Sae. She can make something edible out of anything.” Rue smiles toothily, “She’s the one who helped me get a job at the textile mill when I couldn’t make enough money helping her cook here.”

            “You worked here?” I ask in surprise between mouthfuls of soup.

            She nods her head vigorously, “Oh, yes. I would work here after school when we first moved to the city. Mr. Abernathy was very kind to me. Most of the other business owners wouldn’t hire a black girl from the south to work for them.”

            “Where are you from, Rue? If you don’t mind my prying, that is.” I ask, nibbling much more slowly than before at the crusty bread. I could tell she was from the south by the slight accent she still has but I’m not familiar enough to place it.

            She gives a toothy smile, “I don’t mind at all Miss Katniss-“

            “You don’t need to call me that. Just call me Katniss. I’m from the Seam. I’ve never been a Miss anything.” I say with a wave of my hand.

            Rue chuckles at this before continuing, “Okay then, Katniss. I’m from Atlanta, Georgia. I was born and raised there until I was eight. My father wanted a better life for my siblings and I so we moved to the city but making ends meet was hard so I worked here. When I turned ten, I started working in the mill full time and I have been ever since.”

            “And how long ago was that- when you started working at the mill?” I ask out of curiosity.

            “Two and a half years.” Rue says easily, “The job at the mill has paid well enough that my younger brother still hasn’t needed to find work.”

            The pride in her voice is clearly evident. It’s something not many families can say. Too many children are forced to work in the factories as early as eight years old, especially from big families, which it sounds as though Rue’s is.

            “What about you, Katniss? Have you lived here your entire life?”

            “All sixteen years of it.” I say, soaking up the last of my soup with the dry bread. “My father died in the mine accident six months ago. There wasn’t enough food to go around so I left school to start work.” I admit. Something about Rue’s sweet disposition reminds me so much of Prim that I can’t help but open up to her.

            She nods with an understanding look but doesn’t seem to pity me. I’m thankful for that. Pity won’t do me any good at this point. I need a friend, not someone who is going to feel badly for the girl with a dead father and mentally absent mother.

            Several whistles sound outside the Hob and, as if a power switch has been turned, all the patrons of the dark room stand and start shuffling out the room. Rue and I follow suit and are back at the factory in mere minutes. A second whistle blows and the machines grind and churn as the power is turned on. Rue disappears under her machine and I take up my station, attending to several low spools and running down to retrieve the heavy full ones from the other end of the factory.

            By the time six o’clock comes around and the whistle blows signaling the end of the day, I’m exhausted and my feet are cramping painfully in my healed, worn leather shoes. I still have a half hour’s walk before I’ll be home but thankfully then I can get off my feet. I hurry to knock on Mr. Templesmith’s office door as he instructed me to at the end of the day.

            He opens the door looking bored as he pulls his overcoat over his shoulders, “You’ll be wanting a day’s pay, then?”

            “Yes, sir.” I say, holding hand out as he hands me the coins we agreed upon.

            “Will you be back tomorrow or are you quitting already?” He asks slipping past me and shutting the door as he goes.

            “I’ll be here, sir. Thank you for doing this for me today. I am so very thankful.”

            “This is a one time deal, kid. I can’t do this for every worker who comes to me.” He tucks the key to his office in the pocket of his overcoat and fixes me with a stern look. “You just looked like a racehorse on its last leg. I can tell you have potential but I figured a good meal might make you work harder and earn me more money.”

            Mr. Templesmith doesn’t wait for me to respond before he walks the short distance between where we are standing and the door to the factory. I look down at the small silver coins in my hands and let my fingers curl tightly around them. They’re not much but to me they are everything. They are my family’s lifeline. They are my hope.

            I make a stop at the bakery on the way home and buy a loaf of day-old bread. Next door is the grocery where I buy canned ham. It’s not Prim’s favorite- we all prefer fresher meat- but between this and the bread we’ll make it through the end of the week.

            When I arrive home, Prim’s face lights up once she notices my purchase. She chatters happily and insists I sit down on the worn out couch while she makes us each a sandwich, even, wordlessly, sparing a half of a sandwich for mother. I’ll have to feed it to her later while Prim bathes. Prim settles down next to me with a happy grin as we dig into the evening’s feast.

            “The youngest Mellark boy, Peeta? He spoke to me at school today.” Prim says.

            I frown and turn to look at her. She has a tiny, secretive smile when she looks at me.

            “Why would the Mellark boy talk to you?” I question suspiciously.

            “He was asking about you. He noticed you weren’t in class and he was wondering where you were. I told him you were working in the textile mill up on Wilby Street. He insisted on sharing half of his sandwich with me over lunch so he could sketch my portrait. He’s very talented, Katniss.” Prim prattles happily in between thoughtful bites of food.

            “Prim, you shouldn’t be talking with Peeta Mellark. He’s not like us. Talking to boys like that only leads to trouble for girls from the Seam.” I warn evenly though my blood is boiling.

            What is he thinking approaching my little sister and drawing her portrait? What kind of game is he playing at? Is that why he helped me? So that he could get me out of the way and seduce my sister behind my back? I’ll be damned if he’ll ruin her reputation like his brothers have done to too many Seam girls.

            “Oh Katniss, he’s not at all like that. He’s very kind and not at all like his brothers. He’s a real gentleman.” Prim brushes my concern away.

            The two older Mellarks look just like Peeta although from a distance they seem to lack a certain softness that their youngest brother has. They’ve also been known to take girls down back alleys on the way home from school. The oldest, Glenn, is out of school now, but the middle Mellark, Axel, is in the same year as Gale. I hear plenty of girls giggling in the schoolyard as they whisper the boys’ names. Many a Seam girl has spent weeks crying over one or the other Mellark boys, though I must admit I haven’t heard anyone whisper Peeta’s name between sniffles. That doesn’t reassure me all that much however since I’ve never been one to follow the gossip at school all that closely. Peeta could just be showing a bit more discretion than his older brothers.

            The entire situation rubs me the wrong way though because I also owe Peeta Mellark my life. Is this what he has in mind for repayment, my sister’s reputation for our lives? It’s a price I will refuse. I’ll give him anything so long as no harm or suffering will come to Prim.

            “Sometimes people can be misleading, Prim.” I say softly, trying not to ruin her fun but worried about her all the same, “Just be careful and try to stay away from him, okay? I don’t want you getting hurt.”

            “You know, Katniss, you talk about him like you know him. You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.” Prim points out, staring at what’s left of her sandwich.

            I sigh. That’s Prim for you, always looking for the good in people. She doesn’t understand, or want to admit, that sometimes people act. Sometimes people just want to use you for a purpose and discard you once they’re finished. It’s something I’ve learned watching the girls two years ahead of me fall all over themselves to catch the eye of some wealthy industry heir in hopes that he will sweep them away from the gutters of the Seam into the comfort of riches. In the end, no matter how honest the boy seems to be, he drops the Seam girl back in the gutter for a pretty blonde haired heiress who has never had a blister on her perfectly sculpted hand.

            “Just promise me you’ll be careful, Prim.” I beg and she turns her innocent blue eyes toward me.

            Our gazes meet for a minute or so before she nods in reply and stands to wash our plates. She’s quiet for the rest of the night and I know I’ve hurt her feelings. She had such a wonderful day and didn’t have to go hungry at lunch and I had to darken it with cruel realities.

            I feed mother dinner in silence while Prim cleans up after dinner. It’s almost as though the woman who brought me into this world no longer exists. Her body is still here with us but she’s no longer in it. All that’s left is this shell that takes up food and space but doesn’t live anymore. I try to be patient though as she chews slowly, staring off into whatever distant land she’s stuck in.

            I go to bed before Prim has even finished her bath. I have to be up at three in the morning to get ready for work. My body aches as I settle to the floor and I know tomorrow it will feel even worse. I try to see the positive of the pain- at least it’s earning my family enough money for food. We’re not going to starve after all. We’ll make it somehow, just like we always did when father was still alive.


	2. Chapter 2

_Katniss_

            “Gale!” I exclaim one hot summer afternoon as he walks through the door of our apartment after one short knock. I haven’t seen him in weeks unfortunately because of the hours we both work in our respective factories. Sunday is really the only time we might have to spend together and each of us has been busy with our own families.

            “Hello Catnip.” He replies, his eyes lighting up. He steps forward but falters as his eyes take me in. I look down and realize what’s caught his gaze. A quick blush rushes to my cheeks as I remember I’m still only in my chemise.

            It’s the dog days of July where one can’t stay cool even while laying completely still on the floor. It’s been so hot that Prim and I couldn’t stand the thought of putting on our dresses if we weren’t leaving the house. The chemise does a fair job of concealing my body, the fabric heavy enough not to be seen through; however, it’s cut low and shows more of my bosom than a lady should allow.

            “Oh!” I say in shock, throwing my arms over my chest. “Don’t look!” I shriek when I see he’s still watching me with a bemused expression.

            “Catnip, it’s not as though I haven’t seen you in a nightgown before. We grew up together.” He jokes but his eyes are still glued to me, pupils dilated in his silver irises. My face flushes even redder if it is at all possible.

            “We were children then!” I reprimand loudly, my embarrassment causing my voice to squeak. My words snap him out of whatever strange trance he’s in and red rushes from his neck to his cheeks as he turns away from me. His ears are tipped in red as I hurry into the bedroom and hastily grab hold of my corset. My hands are still shaking with shock and embarrassment but I manage to tighten up the laces quickly enough, tying them off in front before grabbing my dress from the peg on the wall. I slip it on quietly and start working away at the long row of hooks up the front of the bodice.

            “What are you doing?” Prim asks from the floor next to the open window. She has a wet cloth draped over her face and I can see a sheen of sweat over her arms

            “Gale’s here.” I say, fumbling with the tiny hooks of my dress. Blast it! Why are there so many?

            “He is?” She says raising a corner of the cloth to look at me, a sparkle in her eye. I nod and she continues to watch me for another minute before she moves to stand in front of me and swats my hands out of the way, “Here. I’ll do these for you,” her tiny hands with slender fingers make quick work of the row of hooks and soon enough I’m secure in my dress.

            “Thanks.” I say once she finishes off the row.

            “Here, help me with mine. I want to say hello.” Prim says, pulling the dress on quickly over her chemise and turning so I can return her favor.

            When we return to the living room, Gale is still standing there, looking somewhat uncomfortable though the blush has receded. His cheeks turn slightly pink again when he catches site of us but his lips twitch as though he’s trying not to laugh.

            “Hello, Gale.” Prim says cheerfully, smiling that sweet pearly white smile she inherited from my mother.

            “Hello, Prim.” Gale says sounding just as pleased to see her. Before Posy, I think Gale always thought of Prim as his little sister. Even now he watches her with a brotherly eye, “How have you been?”

            “Very well, thank you.” She replies demurely, “How is Rory?”

            Rory is Gale’s younger brother and he’s two years older than Prim. However, like Gale and I, Prim and Rory have known each other since before they could walk because of our fathers’ friendship.

            “Still giving my mother grey hair but well enough.” Gale says with a bright smile that Prim returns as they both think about the most mischievous Hawthorne. Since the day he was born, Vick has been getting himself into all sorts of troublesome situations. He’s one boy filled with too much adventure for his own good.

            Gale turns his attention to me then, “I thought we might take a walk down to the grocery. Mother needs flour and it’s stifling inside. We might be able to catch a breeze or two on the walk.”

            “I can pick up a few things we’re in need of as well.” I reply with a nod. “Would you like to come along, Prim?”

            Gale stiffens slightly at my offer and I feel the scowl form on my face. What on Earth is that about? Gale has always loved spending time with Prim. Now that I notice, he’s awfully fidgety as well; not at all like the Gale I’ve grown up with.

            Prim looks for a moment toward the door but shakes her head, “I should stay here with mother. It’s just so hot. I hate to leave her alone.”

            I nod curtly and Gale visibly relaxes. My sister has always been the better of the two of us. It never crosses my mind to worry about mother. I did at first I suppose but now it’s as though she hardly exists in my world. She’s simply faded into a shadow that I can’t be bothered to notice most days with all the other demands on my attentions.

            The air outside is still just as hot as the apartment, but Gale was right, every so often a slight breeze does blow between the tall buildings. Hardly anyone is out on the streets and those that are are subdued in manner. It’s too hot for even the children to run around laughing and playing as they usually do. It stinks as well, something characteristic of the inner city. The smell of the factories and human squalor permeate the alleyways as we walk.

            Even with all of this though, I find myself filled with happiness to speak with Gale again. It’s been strange not seeing him everyday at school. He’s like a brother, my other half, and not having him around has left a void that I hadn’t fully noticed until now.

            Gale starts fidgeting again and I frown. He’s preoccupied by something, that much is obvious. I want to ask but I know Gale and I know he’ll tell me in his own time. Whatever it is though, it has him stressed as he wrings his hands restlessly against one another.

            “Did Prim tell you Posy found a kitten?” Gale asks. I look up and note the vaguely amused smile on his face. Prim occasionally watches Posy after school while Hazelle, Gale’s mother, delivers the mending and washing to the wealthier families on the other side of town.

            Hazelle started a small laundry business out of her home ever since Mr. Hawthorne died alongside my father. Mostly she serviced those families who couldn’t afford a live-in servant but wanted to appear more affluent. It seems silly to me that people would pay others to do such a basic household chore but it was the only way the Hawthorne family could afford to stay fed even with Gale’s income so I suppose I should appreciate other people’s foolishness.

            “No, she didn’t,” I say with a light laugh. “What did Hazelle say?”

            “She told her to get the wretched looking thing out of the house before we all got fleas, of course.” Gale chuckles, sparkling grey eyes meeting my own.

            “I’m sure that Posy was pleased with that response.” I respond knowingly. Posy has the same stubbornness in her as Gale, a stubbornness found in many children from the Seam. I suppose it must be a necessary trait for a child in the Seam in order for them to survive to adulthood. Without that stubborn, unwillingness, our children would be too soft and give in too easily to the starvation lurking in the shadows, waiting to take them. They have to be strong willed to survive here.

            “I’m sure you can imagine,” he says giving a bold laugh that causes an older couple walking past to glance curiously in our direction. He doesn’t seem concerned by this however as he continues, “which is why her statement was immediately retracted. Vick took the little mess of fur outside with a pail of soapy water and scrubbed it nearly raw. It was curled up in mother’s lap that night.”

            I laugh as I imagine the scene. Hazelle is a warm and loving woman but she undoubtedly thinks the cat is a wasteful burden to the family. I can’t help but agree with her on this position.

            “I’m surprised Prim didn’t tell you about it. She and Posy named it together. Buttercup. A cute name for such an ugly little thing. It’s taken a liking to Prim though. He’s always curled up in her lap or brushing around her ankles.” Gale says giving me a surprised sideways glance. He knows Prim and I usually talk about everything. It’s strange to him that she would have forgotten to mention on of the few happy points in her day. We’ve reached the grocery now and walk up to the counter.

            “I don’t get to speak with her as often with the hours at the factory.” I explain regretfully.

            Empathy crosses his face as he places a hand on my shoulder, a familiar, friendly gesture from the best friend that I’ve missed so dearly, “You have done the right thing, Catnip. It’s all you could have done. She understands why you can’t always be there anymore.”

            I nod and he turns to the grocer to give him the slip of paper on which Hazelle has written everything that she needs. The grocer and his attendant look away quickly as he does, having been caught staring at our contact. Public displays of affection, like Gale touching my shoulder, are not ladylike, not that the grocer expects ladylike behavior out of a girl from the Seam but a blush rushes to my cheeks regardless.

            It only takes a few moments for the grocer to fill Gale’s order and wrap everything up. Gale hands the balding, portly man a few coins before waving for me to step up.

            Fifteen minutes later, we’re back on the street heading home. Gale is quiet this time and when I look up I recognize his brooding look. I’m certain now that he has something on his mind and he’s working out a way to tell me. I don’t have long to wait before his eyes find mine. He pulls me aside into the shade of a scraggly, dying maple sapling and puts down the packages.

            “Catnip, I need to talk to you about something but you must promise me you won’t be angry at me for speaking of it.” Gale says urgently, reaching to grasp one of my hands in his own larger ones.

            “What is it Gale?” I ask worry creasing my brow. I’ve rarely seen Gale nervous about anything but his face now indicates that he is. Gale has always been calm and strong even in unnerving situations, the rock of his family, so as I look up at him now, my stomach knots uncomfortably.

            “It’s the church, the reformers,” He says under his breath as though he’s convinced one of the starched, white shirt clad men is going to appear behind him, “They’re watching your family. I heard Macy Jones from the apartment below mine speaking about it yesterday.”

            I shake my head, “What do the reformers want with us?” I frown in confusion.

            The reformers have set up houses all over the city in an attempt to “cleanse the sin” from the impoverished citizens where all the most unholy sins seem to run rampant. They claim they want to help us, to make us more self-sufficient and give us the things we most need; however, I’ve yet to get anything I honestly need from them. Mostly they just recite Bible passages to me as I walk by on my way home from work, or before that, from school. Occasionally they’ll shout advice from the street corners on how to live a more moral and righteous life. Either way it’s not putting food in my sister’s belly so I don’t need it.

            “They’ve noticed your mother’s absence and they’re intrigued by it. Macy said that the pastor wants to talk with your mother.” Gale says in hushed tones, leaning closer to me than is proper but I don’t have the wits about me to care at the moment.

            My heart is pounding furiously in my chest at the thought. The pastor can’t speak with my mother when she’s not here with us. She’s alive, just barely, but there’s no way she’ll be able to convince him of her sanity when she won’t utter a single word or look a person in the eye.

            My mother used to have frequent contact with the reform members. They knew she would give medical treatment to those who can’t afford an actual doctor at a much lower price. Every week, it seemed, she would receive a patient or two referred to her by the church. I realize now that I should have stopped to speak with the pastor occasionally instead of scowling as I passed him on the steps of the church on the way home from work. I never thought to weave a reasonable story as to my mother’s sudden retirement from medicine and disappearance from the neighborhood several months ago.

            When I fix my gaze to Gale again, I’m sure the fear I see in his eyes is reflected back at him in my own. My fingers tighten around his unconsciously.

            “You must be careful Catnip.” He says, tightening his grip on my hand in return, “You know what they’ll do to her if they find her like she is.”

            It’s a warning. One I receive loud and clear and he’s right. I do know what they’ll do to her. They’ll take her to a doctor- a head doctor. They’ll psychoanalyze her and then put her in the insane asylum that is far outside the city limits where Prim and I will never see her again. There’s no real cure for what my mother has but I’ve heard whispers about how they treat the patients in places like that. I’ve heard whispers that they drain the blood from them if they have fits because they think the brain is too hot or that they lock them in chairs that spin them around rapidly if they’re unresponsive because they theorize that the brain is too cold from lack of blood.

            I don’t owe my mother anything anymore but I can’t let her go to a place like that. I can’t put Prim through that. Not to mention, rumors about what happened to our mother would spread like wildfire, ruining any chances that Prim might have of getting out of the Seam by marrying a respectable man. No. I won’t allow them to take my mother away.

            Gale gives me a knowing glance before looking down at my hand, enveloped in his own and he takes a deep breath before he adds, “You know what they’ll do to you and Prim, Catnip.”

            The home. We’ll become wards of the state and, while I might be spared since I’m sixteen, Prim wont be and they’ll move her to the orphanage. I haven’t interacted with any of the children from the orphanage directly but I don’t have to speak with them to see the red welts on their faces when they come to school or the hollow look in their eyes. Most of them look half starved to death and none of them smile like children should. A place like that would eat Prim alive. I would fight the church tooth and nail before they would put my little sister in an orphanage.

            “I know. I know what will happen, Gale. We’ll be careful. We just need to keep quiet and stay away from them.” I say softly and Gale’s hands gently squeeze my own before releasing it.

            “I hope so, Catnip.” He murmurs, picking his packages back up as we step out from under the tree.

            “I will.” I say firmly, pressing my lips into a firm line, daring him to contradict me, which he does not, knowing me far too well to do something silly like that. “I won’t let them take mother away. They will not hurt Prim.”

            “You’ll keep her safe, Katniss.” He says softly in agreement but I can hear the edge of uncertainty in his tone. It might be too late already.

 

…

 

            It’s two weeks later exactly when a frantic knock comes at the door to our apartment. I throw the door open without asking who it is first and am surprised when Gale pushes past me and closes the door, locking it after himself.

            “They’re coming, Katniss,” he says looking around the apartment as though someone might jump out of hiding at any second.

            “What? Who is coming, Gale? What are you talking about?” I ask, brushing the flour from my hands and moving the hot skillet off of the stove where I had been frying bits of chicken, one of Prim’s favorites.

            “The church!” He exclaims as if it’s obvious and I feel the blood drain from my face instantly. “Macy Jones just stopped by the apartment and said she had heard the pastor talking as she walked by. He said he was leaving after the service this morning to visit your mother directly.”

            “But- but we’ve been quiet.” I stammer unbelievingly. “We’ve made ourselves scarce-“

            “That doesn’t matter now, Katniss! It didn’t work.” He says sharply, though he doesn’t look at me, instead his gaze fixes on the bedroom door and he seems to make a decision. He crosses the room in two wide strides and barrels through the door.

            “Gale!” I shout, scandalized, “You can’t be in there.”

            Prim gives a tiny shriek as the door slams back against the wall and hurriedly moves to pull the blanket over our mother who is still clad in only her nightdress.

            “Gale, get out of here.” I say grabbing his elbow and tugging, but he’s stronger and much larger than me and I barely make his arm budge let alone his entire body.

            “No.” He says and Prim is softly telling him his behavior is inappropriate and he must leave at once but he’s stepping forward to the bed, “No, I’m not leaving until she comes back.” He spits the word ‘she’ as though it’s a bitter poison to his tongue.

            He shakes off my hands and pushes Prim aside as he grabs our mother’s shoulders. He is not gentle as he lifts her up so she’s sitting, staring glassy eyed at him.

            “Do you hear me, Poppy?” He demands loudly, shaking her shoulders as he does. Gale stares at mother with a half crazed look. Prim pleads for him to stop, distressed by his treatment of our mother but he shrugs off her grasping hands, “You have to snap out of this now! You have to come back for your daughters, damn it, or they’ll cart you off to the lunatic asylum and take your daughters away. They’ll throw Prim in a home.”

            There is no response from my mother and he shakes her again harder, his face flushed red as he does. My hands begin to shake involuntarily from the ferocity of the confrontation taking place before me. It’s barbaric and I’ve never seen Gale look so wild. Prim’s eyes are brimming with tears as she whispers incoherent pleas for Gale to stop, not to hurt mother.

            “Think of James, Poppy.” He shouts, his words knocking the wind out of me. It’s been so long since anyone has used my father’s first name. All of the condolences are for Mr. Everdeen, the fine worker from the Seam, never James, never my father. It seems to do something to my mother as well and she blinks, eyes focusing on Gale for the first time. My father’s name like a spell, a magic word, that calls her slowly back to our world. Gale gives her another smaller shake, noting the change in her appearance, “Would James want his daughters put in an orphanage? Would James let that happen?”

            We all stare at my mother for a long time, waiting with baited breath. She doesn’t say anything but I can see color rising into her cheeks for the first time since my father died and her eyes are alive again. She’s slowly returning from that far away place she has been so lost in.

            “No.” She answers hoarsely after what feels like hours. “He wouldn’t.”

            Gale relaxes his grip on her shoulders and lets out a heavy sigh before continuing in a lower, though just as serious, tone, “The pastor from the reformer’s church is coming, Poppy. He remembers you and he has noticed that you have not been about the city healing as you always have before. You must convince him that you’re okay; that you’ve been caring for Katniss and Prim. You _must_ or…” his voice cracks and he trails off, the result of failure too horrible to speak out loud. Failure cannot be an option.

            A knock, much more refined than Gale’s earlier one, sounds at the front door. I hear Iris hurry out of her own room to answer it. I can hear the baby, Stella, in her arms cooing softly and she carries the tiny girl with her. The murmur of her lilting accent travels to us from outside of the room before she knocks on the bedroom door.

            “Katniss. Ze preacher ‘es ‘ere to speak to ‘our mother.” She says softly from behind the whitewashed wood.

            “Thank you, Iris. Tell him we shall be out in a moment. We must make ourselves presentable for company first.” I say as calmly as I can. I’m sure she’s heard Gale’s exchange with my mother through the paper-thin walls of the apartment but she doesn’t give away a word. A fine, wise woman, Iris is. Despite being stuck in a country where she can barely speak the language, she understands a great piece more than one would think and she’s sharp as a whip whether she can verbalize her thoughts or not.

            “Turn around, Gale.” Prim orders firmly, sounding more than twice her age, “Mother needs to dress and you can’t very well leave the room.” She explains when he glances quizzically at her.

            “Prim is right.” I say, shaking my head slightly to recollect my senses. Gale’s shouting has unsettled me but I can’t allow that to show when I walk out of the room. “You must stay hidden in here until the pastor leaves otherwise he might suspect this is all a charade.”

            Gale nods and turns to look out the window as Prim and I hurriedly lace our mother into her corset before helping her on with her dress. She moves slowly, as though sleepwalking, but she’s responsive and alert at least, which is far better than she has been in months. Perhaps she will be able to fool the man of God awaiting her presence in our living room.

            I walk out of the room first and mother trails behind me with Prim following close behind. The pastor, a lanky man with thin, straw colored hair reminds me of a picture of a giraffe I once saw in a book at school, an exotic animal from the continent of Africa. He certainly doesn’t look like he belongs in the Seam. Fair hair and pressed suits made one exotic enough in the Seam that he might be from another continent. No Seam citizen could afford to have his suits starched and pressed every week and blond hair is a rare sight amongst the dark haired workers.

            He gives a proper, gentleman’s bow towards my mother before stepping forward, “Ms. Everdeen, Lord bless you, it has been too long.”

            My mother gives a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, flashing her white, perfect teeth, “It has been Pastor Austin.” She says holding out a hand for him to take lightly.

            She offers him tea and a seat before setting about he kitchen like a proper lady. Of course a proper lady would have a servant to make tea, however my mother has always been resourceful and makes do with her own two hands. Unlike most people, who are born, raised and died in the seam, my mother had been born in an entirely different world, only coming to the Seam once she had married my father. She had been the daughter of a salesman who sold all sorts of medicinal tinctures and syrups. I’m not sure precisely where, but I know she lived on the outer northern banks of the city, a place not nearly as crowded, nor as poor as the Seam.

            She had been engaged to an heir in the agriculture industry, a fine man from the rumors I’ve heard. She would have been boosted into the upper class from her comfortable middle class life, however she had broken it off and eloped only a month before her marriage ceremony was scheduled. Romantic to be sure, but most unladylike indeed if you ask any woman who knows the story.

            She had run off with my father, James Everdeen, a poor man who worked as a miner, who was born and raised in the Seam. His father and his grandfather before him had been miners and he was certain he would marry a Seam girl and all his sons would follow in his footsteps, never leaving the Seam. But he had crossed paths one fine spring morning with my mother on his way to the bakery to pick up bread for his mother’s birthday and in an instant both of their futures were changed forever.

            My mother had been walking with a friend toward the lakeshore to enjoy the first warm, sunny day of spring; a reprieve from all the wedding planning. My father, in good spirits over the fine weather and a day above ground, was singing softly to himself as he walked past the two ladies, catching my mother’s eye.

            In a move lacking any propriety, my mother had introduced herself to the young, dark haired man with sparkling grey eyes, and invited him to join her and her friend in their promenade. Apparently my mother had caught my father’s fancy as well, she was quite the beauty, and he had agreed, going against his entire upbringing, to escort the ladies.

            It only took one afternoon, my father always said. By the time they parted so that the ladies might arrive home before dark, my parents were both goners, completely lost in one another. My mother’s friend, being a sucker for romance, had helped my mother sneak out to meet my father a week later and they eloped the next day. My mother had been disowned, losing any dowry she might have hoped for but she always said that it didn’t matter. She loved my father and that was enough.

            Prim always thought the story romantic and lovely and perhaps I had too before my father was killed. Now, seeing the remains of my mother, a shell of her former self without him, I see what a folly it all is. Only a fool would allow herself to become so attached and dependant on a man. A marriage of convenience is much more sensible, not to mention safer. I can’t imagine losing my heart if the man I loved died.

            All of this resulted in my mother having the most refined and ladylike manners in the Seam. She knows all the proper etiquette and how to coyly avoid topics best left untouched. It is this upbringing that saves us during the Pastor Austin’s visit.

            She speaks lightly, not as all as though she’s been a ghost these past few months. The Pastor questions her absence subtlety to which she gives a soft, seemingly genuine laugh that fills the small room.

            “Oh, Pastor Austin, I’m so terribly sorry that my presence has been missed. I’ve just been so busy helping my current patients I haven’t thought to find the time to take on the newly ill. Time has been so tight this year. The summer has brought so many new cases of the measles I’ve had a difficult time keeping up.” My mother explains away in her soft-spoken manner.

            “Has there been?” The gangly man asks in surprise, eyebrows arching in surprise as he pauses for a moment to take a sip of tea. The way he lifts the cup and sticks his head out slightly to meet it makes him look even more like the pictures I remember of the giraffes. “I’ll be sure to pray for them Ms. Everdeen.”

            My mother nods her head in thanks, apologizing for the lack of teacakes. Money has been rather tight of late though things are looking up, she does believe.

            “I must also offer my sincerest condolences for the loss of your Mr. Everdeen. I should have come sooner but I too have found time in short supply this summer with all those that need saving.” Pastor Austin says in his most empathetic tone.

            I’m not sure whether or not he can see the change but I can sense it immediately. My mother tenses, freezing with her teacup halfway between it’s plate and her lips. I gaze at the young man and see in his eyes that he means to catch my mother off guard. He’s a wily man, our Pastor Austin, and he knows we’re hiding something.

            My mother places her cup back on its saucer and gives a petite cough, “Well I thank you very much, Pastor. Your condolences are very much appreciated during this difficult time for our family.”

            He gives a tight-lipped smile, trying to conceal his disappointment that the woman beside me is in fact still capable of speech. A small flicker of hope lights deep inside of me. Perhaps our mother has returned to us. Perhaps she will stay and protect us now like a mother should do for her young.

            His frosty gaze turns to me, blue eyes like ice, not at all like Peeta Mellark’s. The thought shocks me. Why would I compare this man to Peeta Mellark? Why would I even be thinking of Peeta Mellark at a time like this when my family is in danger of being torn apart? I mentally banish the thought and stare right back at the cool blue gaze.

            “You look quite tired Miss Everdeen.” He acknowledges me for the first time since Prim and I took our seats on either of our mother’s sides. “And so very frail. Have you been sick of late?”

            I can’t prevent the angry blush from creeping up the back of my neck and over the curl of my ears. I know he’s correct. I’ve seen it in the mirror as well. All the hours working down at the textile mill have left me exhausted and there are permanent dark smears of sleep deprivation under my eyes. Despite the return of food to our household, it never seems to be enough and my face has remained hollowed out. This man isn’t able to see how my ribs continue to protrude like some horrible joke, mocking my attempt to provide for my family, though I doubt he misses how my dress sags on me despite my attempts to take in the seams.

            Prim looks as healthy as ever, however, so I have tried to ignore my own thin body. I’m not as thin as I was on the day Peeta Mellark gave me that bread but I’m not plump and happy like the girls from outside the Seam either. There it is again, a flash of Peeta Mellark running through my mind with that reassuring smile on his face as he holds out a paper bag to me. I push it roughly aside and turn my attention back to the man in front of me.

            “I’m quite well, Pastor, simply tired. I’ve been working at the textile mill on Wilby Street and I admit I have not been sleeping nearly as much as I should.” I say, trying to imitate my mother’s soft, lilting voice but failing, my words falling heavy off my tongue in a way that sounds all too much like the Seam.

            “You’ve taken a job? Surely you aren’t old enough to have finished your schooling properly.” He says, latching onto a weak link in our armor, his eyes lighting up as he stares at me with intrigue, thinking perhaps this visit will not be in vain after all.

            “I have. As mother said, things have been difficult since father passed. I am merely trying to help make ends meet.” I reply, attempting my most demure smile, “And I’m afraid I was not able to finish my schooling. That’s why I’m so tired you see, Pastor. I’ve stayed up at night reading from any books I can get my hands on.”

            “I see. Very adroit of you, Miss Everdeen, though you might try to invest more of your time in rest. A lady may find her beauty of more use more than her mind.” He says haughtily, clearly put off by my response, dashing his hopes of accomplishing anything other than mere chatter during this visit. I want to kick him in his scraggly shin but I know this would not be received well and instead take another sip of tea to hide my disgust.

            He takes one last sip of his tea before standing, unfolding his long, gangly limbs into a stature that stuns one to silence having been sitting with him for so long. He truly is a giant in terms of height though I have no doubt Gale would be able to floor him since the older man has next to no muscle on his limbs, nor any real weight for that matter. He is, quite simply, skin and bones.

            “I must take your leave, Ms. Everdeen. I’m afraid I’m expected for supper at a parishioner’s home. The guest of honor, you see.” He says with a smile of self-appreciation. My mother stands and offers her hand lightly to him again, which he takes delicately. “Feel free to visit our parish when you have the time.”

            “I thank you for the invitation.” My mother says softly with that soft smile of hers, schooled and practiced for years.

            As soon as Pastor Austin is out the door and the lock is bolted, my mother makes her way wordlessly to the bedroom. Iris steps out of her room looking about curiously at us but doesn’t say a word before shutting herself away again. I follow our mother and see that Gale is at the window, shoulders still tense.

            “He’s gone, just turned down the street.” Gale says after a few moments, shoulders visibly relaxing as he does. A small smile flashes across his face, “You’ve done it.”

            I give a tight smile in response before turning to watch my mother, already crawling back into bed still in her dress.

            Prim takes her hand lightly, “Mother why don’t you come back to the living room, I’ll make us some supper and you can eat out there.” Her voice is pleading as her fingers lace between the older woman’s but there is no response.

            I look in my mother’s eyes and know without a doubt in my mind that she will not leave the bed for supper. She’s gone again. Extinguished like a candle in only a moment. Our mother has left us again as though she never returned in the first place. I shouldn’t have hoped. It was asking too much for her to return to us, to protect us. A stabbing ache starts in my chest; it hurts worse this time, my mother leaving us. Perhaps it’s because I don’t have the fresh loss of our father to overshadow the pain of abandonment.

            Gale’s brow is furrowed as I lead him out of the bedroom so Prim can undress my mother again. I try not to look at him as I walk him to the door, not wanting to see the pity evident in his visage.

            “I’m sorry she didn’t come back, Catnip.” He murmurs, reaching to take my hand, but I pull it away.

            “Don’t be, Gale.” I say back, hardening my voice against the pain aching in my chest. I had hoped. I had hoped for too much. I had been foolish. I don’t say this though.

            Instead I give my bravest smile, “Don’t fret about us. We will be fine. We’ve managed without mother for months now; one afternoon will not change that.”

            My words don’t ease the frown from his face but he nods. He’s out the door and halfway down the stairs when I hear him softly call up the hallway as I shut the door, “Stay brave, Catnip.”

            I pretend not to hear him as I latch the door for the night because I don’t feel very brave. I feel tired. I feel angry. I feel lost.

 

…

_Peeta_

 

            She’s there just ahead of him, obliviously walking through the field of wheat. She has no idea he’s watching her that much is obvious. He’s never seen her so relaxed before, the usual tension in her shoulders is missing and when she turns her face towards the sun he can see the hint of a smile twitching at her lips.

            Her lips. So red and perfect against her olive skin he wants nothing more than to feel them against his own. She’s not beautiful in the way women are expected to be beautiful but he’s never seen any woman more lovely than she.

            He slowly steps forward, careful to remain silent, hoping he can sneak up on her and fearful that if he’s caught she might run away. She’s only a few steps away now as a breeze rushes over the field causing the wheat to whisper slowly about their knees. The air picks up her thin summer gown and pulls it tightly against her silhouette, flaunting the sweet curve of her waist, giving rise to her hips.

            He can’t wait any longer, “Katniss,” he murmurs as his arms wrap around that tiny waist he’s dreamed of so many times.

            She doesn’t jump or try to push him away as he expected. The smile tugging at her lips merely blossoms as she turns her head to look at him, placing her hands over his own on her belly.

            “I heard you coming.” She says sweetly, her smile laughing at him playfully.

            “But you didn’t run.” He states the observation with its underlying question of why.

            “I was glad you came to find me.” She admits, turning around in his arms, stunning him with her unconscious beauty. He wants to touch her so badly, to feel the delicate skin of her neck.

            “You are?” He questions, pulling his eyes from her bosom to meet her sparkling grey ones.

            She nods, a smile tugging again at her lips.

            “Why?” She seems to have take all of his words from him. Normally he is so composed but with Katniss Everdeen his mind melts to mush.

            “Kiss me, Peeta.” She says so softly, he fears the wind may be playing tricks on his ears but her heated gaze says otherwise.

            He doesn’t wait for her to ask again, lowering his lips to meet hers hungrily. His mind races a thousand miles a minute. Her lips so soft, so sweet as they move assuredly against his own. His arms tighten around her pulling her body flush against his own, earning a gasp from her that sends a surge of electricity to his groin.

            He groans, “Oh, Katniss.”

            “It’s okay, Peeta.” She pants softly, her breath hot on his cheek, sending tingling sensations throughout his body, “I have known for so long. I’ve wanted this too, Peeta.”

            “Katniss I-“

            Bam!

            Something hits hard against his face and he shouts out, groping in the air for his assailant. He hears a deep cackle just before the pillow hits him again.

            “Axel!” He shouts, “What do you think you’re doing?”

            “You woke me up with your moaning little brother and I thought I’d help you out.” Peeta’s brother says, his white teeth gleaming in the moonlight that pours through the window of their holiday home.

            Normally Peeta has his own room back at Mellark Mansion in the city. However, at the beginning of summer, Peeta’s mother sent her two youngest sons away to the much smaller cottage house near the grain mills his father owned. Peeta and Axel shared one of the bedrooms and their father took the other. Peeta’s oldest brother, Glenn, had stayed behind in the city in order to prepare to go back to university and work under his mother’s guidance at the textile factory sorting bills and other such oddities.

            “I was _not_ moaning.” Peeta argues, pushing his brother, and the assaulting pillow, out of reach of his face, which still smarts a bit. Peeta swears there must have been something harder than just goose feathers in that pillow.

            “That you were young Peeta.” His brother says with another wicked laugh, “Just check the sheets.”

            Peeta doesn’t have to check the sheets to know. He can feel the wetness between his legs without looking. Axel is right, much to Peeta’s mortification.

            “Hey, it’s okay, Peet.” Axel says good-naturedly, a cat’s grin still gracing his face as he empathetically states, “It happens to all of us. Glenn went through a phase where he woke up every night moaning about Sara.”

            Sara Wilkins is a girl two years younger than Peeta’s brother Glenn that the older boy had taken a strong fancy to when he was sixteen. Peeta had caught them necking in the alley near the school several times as he walked home. He’s still not sure what happened but one day Glenn stopped giving his attentions to Sara. He remembers seeing the girl sobbing to a friend in the back of the school one afternoon but he never saw the two together after that.

            Peeta hopes that the rush of blood to his face isn’t visible in the dim light of the moon. Peeta’s relationship with Katniss is not at all like Glenn and Sara’s, of that he’s certain.

            “Who’s caught your eye then, brother?” Axel asks, sitting down on his bed with a happy bounce like a boy who’s just caught his brother with his hand in the cookie jar.

            He must not have said her name out loud then. Peeta gives a silent sigh of relief. The last thing he needs is Axel giving him tips on how to woo Seam girls to lie with him. Peeta knows his brother has become quite the expert in this though his parents turn a blind eye.

            “No one specifically.” He lies. Peeta thinks his voice is too high. Axel will surely know he’s fibbing. But his brother just laughs.

            “I can help you there, Peet.” He says excitedly. Peeta can’t make out his brother’s piercing blue eyes but he’s sure if he could he would see a mischievous glint in them.

            “Oh?” Peeta says more so to placate his brother than out of any real interest.

            “There’s a little milk maid in town. Sweet thing with a pretty smile. Big,” Axel holds out his arms in front of his chest to give an idea of the girl’s bosom, “as well. She seems simple; shouldn’t be too hard to sweet talk into bed, especially with your talent with words.”

            Peeta rolls his eyes, “Thank you for that thought, Axe but I’ll survive without, I think.”

            “Oh come on, Peeta!” Axel groans from where he’s now lounging on his mattress, sleep drifting back into his voice even as he argues.

            “No.” Peeta says firmly.

            “So you do have a specific girl.” Axel states interestedly, starting to sit up again.

            “What time is it, Axel?” Peeta asks, attempting to divert his attention.

            “Four-thirty.” The older boy replies after squinting at the face of an old clock next to his bed.

            “Good enough.” Peeta replies, standing and changing out of his pajamas, still wet in the crotch. He uses them to clean himself off before trading them for comfortable pants and a starched linen shirt.

            He hooks the suspenders with his right hand as he tosses the dirty pajamas down the laundry shoot. He makes a mental note to tell Cora his sheets need to be changed. He cringes when he imagines the look on her face when he tells her. She has two grown sons of her own and will know why they need to be changed the instant she sees them if not sooner. He heaves a sigh of embarrassment and heads out the door.

            “Are you coming, Axe?” He asks his older brother. A soft snore is all the reply he gets and he shakes his head with a smile before shutting the door and heading out to the small bakery where his father has taken to spending his mornings.

            The building is tiny in comparison to the many factories Peeta’s father, Bryn Mellark, owns however the older man revels in the manual labor needed to run the storefront. Adelaide Mellark, Peeta’s mother, scoffs at the idea of her husband running a tiny bakery. There’s no money in it, she says; it is beneath him. Peeta heard them arguing late on night just before Bryn took the boys with him to the cottage house. Adelaide wanted Bryn to sell the thing and invest all his time in the mill but Bryn had resolutely refused. Peeta is thankful he did. He loves the bakery just as much as his father and enjoys spending time learning to bake new breads, even baking some of his own recipes.

            It is unusual for someone of the Mellark’s social standing to own and operate a business. Some in the upper echelon of society have been heard snickering at the mundane work. For Peeta though, the bakery is anything but mundane. It is the one place he can experiment and let loose without fear of being reprimanded. For Peeta, the bakery has become home.

            The small tinkle of a bell over the door announces Peeta’s arrival and to his surprise his father is already there kneading a fresh batch of dough. The older man looks up and smiles brightly when his eyes land on his son. Of the three boys, Peeta is most like his father, quiet and reserved with a big, warm heart. Peeta has his father’s looks, curly blond hair that turns to gold in the right light and intensely blue eyes with a certain, unexplainable sweetness to them.

            “’Morning, my boy.” Bryn calls warmly from his place at the counter.

            “Good morning dad. You’re here early.” Peeta notes, pulling his apron from the hook on the wall and fastening it over his clothes.

            “Well, I was awake and figured I might as well put the time to good use.” Bryn says, splitting the dough in half and sliding a blob of it down the counter toward Peeta. “But if I’m early that means you are too.”

            The older man glances curiously at his youngest son. He couldn’t have favorites among his children, of course, but in Peeta, he had not just a son but a companion. The boy had a wisdom beyond his years and didn’t mind getting dirty with a bit of hard work. The two are, in fact, so similar it’s as though one soul was split between two bodies and spread out over two generations.

            Peeta shrugs as he digs into the dough with more ferocity than is strictly necessary, “I couldn’t sleep anymore. Axel woke me with a pillow to the face.”

            “Did he now?” The older man says, lips twitching as if to smile, not at all surprised that the liveliest of his three boys was causing mischief again. “And why did he do that?”

            Peeta shrugs, “Just Axel being Axel I suppose.”

            Bryn chuckles, “I might have to agree with you on that, son.”

            The two men fall into contented silence over their work for a long while. Bryn hums softly, and off key, to some tune in his head. Peeta thinks of Katniss and his dream and wonders how she’s fairing working the long hot summer days in the textile mill.

            Part of him hated himself for ever sending her to work there. He has never been to the factory yet, his mother waits to take each of her sons when they’re seventeen. Peeta will go this year. However, he has a more than vague understanding of the conditions in the mill and he has been quite bitter with himself for putting sweet Katniss in that situation.

            More than once he has tried to set pen to paper; to ask her how she’s fairing. But he can never find the right words to start his letter. How would he?

            “Dear Miss Everdeen.” Too formal; they’ve known one another for years.

            “Dear Katniss.” She would think him too forward.

            Even if he could find an appropriate opening, what would he say then?

            “I hope the summer season finds you well.” He knows that her summer is filled with hard labor and long hours in a stiflingly hot factory.

            No. Peeta knows there is no use in trying to write her. No matter what he would manage to put to paper it wouldn’t do his concern justice and Katniss would certainly be suspicious of his motives.

            Katniss. This morning was the third time in a week that he’d woken up with damp sheets. He wishes he could see her face with those glowing grey eyes, narrowed in suspicion but sharp as a hawks, willing to protect those she cares for at any cost. He wishes he could watch her walk down the sidewalk away from the school, hips swaying unconsciously and shoulders held with a strength that always surprises him for a girl so small.

            It’s been a little over two months now that he’s been living in the cottage house. It would only be another month before he would return home to the Mellark mansion. It would probably be much longer than a month before he would see her perfect form again. She wouldn’t return to school this year like Peeta. But he would see Prim.

            His lips curl up slightly at the thought of the sweet blond haired, blue eyed sister, so unlike Katniss in so many ways but similar in all the ways that count. Her smiles and laughter are not in short supply like Katniss’s. How Peeta wishes he could make Katniss smile so often as Prim. Prim is quick to trust and easy going in ways that her older sister could never be as she assumed responsibility for the safety of her family.

            Peeta admits he used Prim’s sweet innocence for his benefit at the end of the school year. After Katniss started working, he could no longer watch her from a distance as he had for years. He kept a sharp ear all day, listening for any word of Katniss however she had never had many friends. She had hardly had any friends as far as he was aware besides that Seam boy, Gale Hawthorne, who could pass for her brother and Madge Undersee, daughter of the mayor of the city. His wait was in vain as no word was spoken about her or her absence from the back corner of the classroom.

            During lunch, Prim caught his eye, laughing with a group of girls around her age. Peeta had taken a chance and asked her to sit for him so that he might draw her, or at least that was his excuse. Honestly, he only wanted to talk to her, to ask her about Katniss, though the practice for his sketching was another benefit. She had been soft spoken that day and shy but she had answered his questions obligingly, eating her half of his sandwich so fast it made his stomach knot. He couldn’t help but wonder just how little the sisters had been eating and for how long.

            Prim had hesitantly joined him the next day under the same pretense that he needed a willing model to sit for him. She had been even quieter and far more evasive with her questions. Still she had smiled kindly at him and laughed at his silly jokes.

            Yes, Peeta is so thankful to have Prim around. She is his only tie left to Katniss. Perhaps she will resume their arrangement again this year. Peeta hopes so silently as he continues kneading the bread before him.

            “You’re terribly quite this morning, Peeta.” Bryn notes from his station at the counter. “Is there something on your mind?”

            Peeta shrugs, unsure of how much he should divulge to his father, “It’s nothing much, Dad.” He says, deciding to tell the older man nothing. Nothing had come of his feelings for Katniss so what would be the point in bringing them up with his father?

            “I think this batch is ready to put into pans.” Bryn states, allowing his son to brush off his question and sliding out stack full of loaf pans. The two men make quick work of cutting the dough and settling it into the pans as the oven heats up.

            Axel ambles through the door just as the sun is cresting over the fields in the distance and Bryn slides the last pan into the oven. Peeta observes as the older boy rubs the crust of sleep from his eyes. His shirt is a bit rumpled and his hair is mussed on the side he always sleeps on. One thing is for certain, Peeta is the early riser of the family second only to Bryn. Axel would stay in bed all morning if it weren’t for his morning chores at the bakery.

            Initially, Bryn had allowed his sons free reign, however he quickly learned that Axel would need a stronger hand than that when Axel was caught necking with one of the town girls. After six summers of staying with their father, the boys knew down to a T what was expected of them. At five thirty in the morning they were expected to be at the bakery to help with the morning chores there. In the afternoons, they would help their father in the mill if needed or run the bakery.

            “Good morning, Axel.” Bryn calls cheerfully from the hot mouth of the oven, “Just in time to help with the sourdough bread.”

            “Wonderful,” Bryn’s middle son mumbles, still half asleep. His eyes catch Peeta shifting uncomfortably over in the corner and they liven up immediately, “Have you talked to dad about your morning, Peet?” He asks teasingly.

            Peeta shoots a glare in his brother’s direction, “I told him about you waking me by hitting me in the face with your pillow.”

            Axel cackles happily at his little brother’s glare. The youngest Mellark clearly doesn’t want to talk about his dream and for once Axel shows some self-restraint, keeping his brother’s secret… for now anyway.

 

…

_Katniss_

 

            It started as a cough, just a little dry thing that all children seem to have in the fall as the chill descends over the city. Prim came home from school one afternoon and went straight to bed, just feeling a little tired, she said. When I arrived home from work, she was still there and she told me that her throat was a bit sore.

            “I don’t want to miss school tomorrow, Katniss.” She whispers tiredly to me when I tell her later that night that she will be staying home until she gets better. “We’re supposed to start long division tomorrow.”

            I smile sympathetically. Of course my little sister would be worried about missing her long division lessons when she’s so sick she can barely stand to talk.

            “It will be alright, Prim.” I assure her, brushing a comforting hand over her baby soft hair. “I can help you catch up. You just need to get healthy again, okay?”

            She nods slowly, looking so much like the baby sister she is. She’s grown up so much in the last few months. I hate that she’s been forced to do so but I’m glad she can still have moments like this, where she can still be the child she is, safe and protected simply by the presence of her big sister.

            A week later, as I walk through the door I know something has changed. I hurry over to where Prim has collapsed on the couch and give her shoulder a soft shake.

            She grumbles and her eyes flutter open as I brush her hair back from her forehead. An audible gasp escapes my lips.

            “Oh, Prim, you’re burning up,” I whisper, standing to fetch a cloth and wet it with cool water.

            Prim seems to come around a bit more at the touch of the cold cloth to her heated skin. Here eyes widen in surprise momentarily but relax once they settle on me and she smiles tiredly.

            “I’m really okay, Katniss, don’t be worried. It’s just a little fever.” My face must be giving me away. I’ve never been good at hiding my emotions, something that my mother used to lament since it’s vital for a lady who hopes to increase her means to hide any contrary opinions.

            “A lady should always be soft spoken and agreeable.” She used to tell me when I would come home from school as a little girl with a note saying I argued with one of the other girls in class. But my mother isn’t around now and she’s not handing out any free advice like she used to. And this isn’t just a little fever, no matter what Prim says. Her skin is on fire.

            “Is there anything that sounds good to you, Prim? Anything that might make you feel better?” I ask. She’s always had more of the healing touch than I have. My mother had started to take her along occasionally as an assistant before my father died. She only knows a few basic points but it’s a fair bit more than I do.

            She shakes her head though, “I think I’ll just go to bed. I’m so tired.”

            I watch her as she retires to the bedroom leaving me with a nagging feeling in my belly. I check in on her several times but she’s always sleeping with my mother next to her, still cold and unfeeling. I manage to tempt her with a warm broth but she only drinks about half of it before she lies down again saying she’ll finish it tomorrow.

            That night as I settle into bed I pull out the tiny pouch of coins that we hide under the mattress in one of my father’s old socks. The coins clink around musically as I pour them into my hand and count them out. My shoulders sag of their own accord at the number I end up with. It’s not enough to get a doctor and even if it was, this money is supposed to pay the rent. Never mind that it’s also not enough for that but I still have two more weeks before rent will be due again.

            The next morning, when I wake up before work, Prim isn’t any better. She seems worse actually, tossing around with fever riddled dreams. I don’t wake her, knowing there’s nothing I can do for her. It would be cruel to wake her from her sleep if I can’t help with her fever.

            To my horror, Prim is still lying in the same position when I return home. I shake her shoulder frantically, calling her name. It takes several minutes before she hoarsely whispers my name. Her skin feels like a fire is pulsing underneath it and her eyes are unfocused even as I speak to her. It is then that I realize one thing.

            My little sister, my Primrose, is dying and I don’t know how to save her.

            It’s not fair. It’s not right that we should fight so hard to survive only for illness to take her from me. I can’t fight this enemy. Poverty and hunger I can protect her from now but I’m still powerless against the fever.

            I wish my mother were here to help. The thought makes me want to laugh but I don’t. There’s nothing funny about needing one’s mother who is within arm’s reach and yet lost inside a world of her mind. I look to the stone-like woman laying on the other side of the bed and let out a sigh. I must try at least. For Prim, I must try to bring her back, even if only for the night, in hopes that she might be able to heal her.

            “Mother.” I whisper, though I know I don’t really need to. Prim is lost to this world, in the throws of the fever crazing her mind. She’s finally quieted down enough to settle into a restless sleep, murmuring incoherent thoughts. The woman that looks so like her remains still as stone however.

            “Mother, you need to stop this. Prim is sick. She needs you.” I plead but the only reaction I receive from her is a slow blink of her eyes.

            Something snaps in me and I take her firmly by the shoulders shaking her fiercely as Gale had done nearly two months ago, “She’s going to die if you don’t come back to us!” I scream, tears thick on my voice, “I can’t do this alone! I’m not a healer! Mother, please do something!”

            A sob escapes my lips; the first to do so in a very long time. It’s the first I’ve ever cried in front of this stranger sitting before me who used to be my mother. She blinks again and then again. She takes a deep breath as though waking up from a long winter slumber like the forest animals supposedly do. Then, much to my disbelief she turns to look at me, eyes slowly coming to focus on my face, streaked with hot tears.

            “I don’t know if I can.” She whispers, her voice hoarse and pleading. A crease forms on her brow as though she might cry but I know this woman is too far gone for an emotion like that. She would need to be human to cry and if my mother had proven anything in the months following my father’s death, she had proven that the human part of her died with him, leaving an empty shell behind for us to care for. She takes a deep breath though and moves to stand, “For Prim, I’ll try.”

            It’s as though some spirit has taken over my mother’s body, or I suppose maybe that father sent her spirit back to us. Surely our father would have seen our suffering from wherever he rests eternally now and he would have sent her back to us. She stands and goes to Prim’s side, murmuring insignificant words to the sleeping girl. One would never guess it’s the first time she’s moved and spoken to either of her daughters in months.

            “Katniss, I need you to boil up some of these. Just toss them on top of a pan of water and let them steep for ten minutes then bring a glass here.” My mother says, riffling through her small chest full of herbs and medicines. She hands me the small bottle full of narrow, delicate, green leaves.

            I nod, too resentful to speak to her but too thankful to say something spiteful. She needs me? What about when I needed her? It’s a selfish, entirely unladylike thought but I don’t stop myself from ruminating over it while I watch the leaves boil. She’s come back to us for now at least. She’ll be able to help Prim. She might not stay with us- no, she probably won’t stay with us but at least she’s going to do this one thing.

            My mother nurses Prim through the night, spoon-feeding the tiny, feverish body until the entire glass of herbal tea is gone. She keeps a cool cloth nearby to brush over Prim’s face and I drift off listening to her soft murmurings of insignificant, comforting words.

            When I wake for work the next morning, Prim is sitting, propped up by a pillow behind her back, sipping a greenish soup that my mother is spooning into her mouth. I smile at her and kiss her forehead before starting to dress. Much to my relief, the fever seems to have broken, and I can’t detect even the slightest elevation in her temperature.

            My mother the healer, a known miracle worker, has saved my sister in the course of one night, accomplishing what I could not for over a week. I can feel mother’s sharp blue eyes boring holes into my back as I lace up my corset and quickly do up the long row of hooks on my dress.

            I hurry back to Prim’s side and give her one last kiss, “I’ll be home after work. Is there anything that sounds good to eat that you want me to buy on the way home?”

            “No.” She murmurs softly, “Anything will do. I love you, Katniss.” Her wide blue eyes melt my heart and I smile. I was so fearful that I might never hear her say those words again, or smile that sweet, little smile.

            “I love you too, Little Duck.” I reply, ruffling her hair softly.

            I’m just walking out the door when I turn halfway around. I should say goodbye to mother as well since it seems as though she might be sticking around for longer than a few hours.

            I look at the floor below her feet and mumble, “I’ll be home after six o’clock. That’s when my shift ends.”

            The words sound cold and heavy but they’re the best I can offer her. I don’t want to kiss her like I used to before I left for school. I’m not that Katniss anymore and I’m not going to school. No, because of her, I’m heading off to work in a mill where the air is so hot it’s as if it burns your lungs while you breathe. I’ll be there for fourteen hours and I will come home exhausted with a sore back but that’s what I must do. Someone had to step up and take care of our family after my father died. I’m just immensely bitter that it was me that the responsibility fell to instead of my mother.

            “Katniss,” my mother starts, moving as if to give me some affectionate gesture of goodbye, but I hurry through the door closing it behind me and by doing so closing off any relationship I used to have with my mother.

            We will coexist for Prim’s sake but I will not rely on her again. I refuse to rely on someone who could disappear at any second. I’ve felt that particular type of heartbreak enough for my lifetime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it and there will be more Peeta/Katniss interaction next time. Please feel free to let me know what you think by commenting. I love to hear your thoughts and I promise I don’t bite. Also, feel free to follow me at thegirlofdistrict7 on tumblr.


	3. Chapter 3

_Peeta_

 

            “Peeta!” His mother shouts from the foyer below him. He hurriedly pulls on his suit coat and glances in the mirror, trying to flatten a stray curl down in vain. The blasted thing just springs happily back out as if to mock him.

            “Coming, mother,” he calls, staring at the boy in the mirror in front of him. His lips flatten into a straight line as he takes in his appearance. He’ll be visiting his mother’s factory today for the first time and she demanded he look his best. That’s not why he pauses now to observe himself though.

            It doesn’t escape him that he might see Katniss Everdeen today. He doesn’t even know for sure whether she still works at the mill or not. He’s spoken to Prim several times since school started, however the young girl always just refers to Katniss working, never where and he doesn’t want to seem too eager for information about the eldest Everdeen sister.

            And then Prim had disappeared for over a week, returning just a few days ago. That week had nearly driven him mad as he imagined what horrible tragedies might have befallen the two girls. Twice he had started walking in the direction of the Seam after school in hopes that he might find out where Katniss lives and discover whether she was okay. And twice he had managed to talk himself out of it. It’s not proper to call on a lady without receiving an invitation first, he told himself. He doesn’t want to come off as being too forward and Katniss doesn’t seem the type to take such a visit lightly.

            Katniss. Peeta hopes he will see her today and yet, at the same time, he hopes he does not. He hopes that she might have found some better way of earning a living and left the long, hard days in the factory behind her. What’s more, he hopes that perhaps her mother has found a way to provide for their family on her own so Katniss might return to school again. Peeta shakes his head at the impossibility of his last thought. No, the best he could really hope for was for Katniss to be out of his mother’s factory.

            His heart seems to fall a little inside him at the thought. He wants so badly to see her again so that his eyes might put to even greater memory, the curve of her ear and the way that stubborn strand of hair brushes over it. Peeta flushes at the thought. It’s not as though he didn’t observe her every day since they were little children. He probably has her form memorized better than she does.

            “Snap out of it, Mellark,” he mumbles to himself as he turns from the mirror and heads down the grand mahogany staircase to meet his mother on the marble floors of the foyer below.

            Adelaide glances over her youngest son once and rolls her eyes, “Honestly, Peeta, I told you to look presentable. This is the first time you’ll be visiting the factory and you look like you’re of poor breeding just like the filth who work there.”

            “Sorry, Mother,” Peeta murmurs as he turns to look out a window so she can’t see him grimace involuntarily.

            He shouldn’t be bothered by her behavior anymore. He grits his teeth and turns to follow the sour woman out the door to the waiting automobile in front of the mansion. No, he shouldn’t be bothered, but Peeta can’t help the way her words cut away at him.

            After seventeen years of her sharp tongue, he still hasn’t found a way to keep her words from eating away at him. As a little boy, he would do anything he could to try and please her but it was never enough. Peeta Mellark always had been and always would be a disappointment in his mother’s eyes. Of course she had been hard on his brothers as well, but for some reason, Peeta had always seemed to get the worst of his mother.

            Peeta tries to focus as his mother chatters but he finds it difficult as his mind continues wandering to the possibility of seeing Katniss and what she might look like. It has been nearly nine months since he last saw her, after all. He hopes she isn’t much changed except that she might have gained enough weight to fill in the hollows of her cheeks.

            Adelaide divulges that, since it’s nearly Thanksgiving, the factory is working overtime now to keep up with the Christmas season demand for fabrics. Peeta’s not sure how they could have the factory working overtime when it already functions from four in the morning until six at night. How could they work the people anymore without killing them? Peeta doesn’t voice this question though, knowing all too well that it would send his mother into a heated rant about his lack of economic sense.

            Peeta understands economics well enough though to understand that the more hours the machines are running the more fabric they make and the more profit the Mellarks earn. However, there must be some line where morality comes into play. Peeta has yet to hear where that is though and when he walks into the factory behind his mother a few minutes later, he realizes why.

            Peeta has heard a lot of different versions of hell in his lifetime; the fiery burning pit with a horrid demon with horns or a brimstone chamber so hot that it could kill, yet it doesn’t and there’s no water to be had. However, never has Peeta been told of this version of hell, one right here on Earth.

            The air is clouded with dust from the machines and raw textiles being processed. It is dry and scratchy on his throat as he breathes in and he coughs involuntarily which elicits a disapproving sideward glance from his mother. And it’s loud too. Peeta has never heard such a horrendous amount of noise in his life. He must make a conscious effort to stop himself from slamming his hands over his ears to keep out the grating of gears and shouting of the workers over all of the hubbub.

            By the time Peeta actually gets around to observing the machines, he is quite queasy and looks a bit pale in the cheeks. He can see all the gears churning from his bird’s eye view near the foreman’s office. The workers standing next to the giant machines, look tiny in comparison, like a toy train set he had seen in the window of a toy store. He watches the scene in disgust, though he can’t seem to look away. Tiny children, much younger than him, scurry under the machines, un-jamming parts and manually feeding threads if they break. They should be in school reading fairytales, not working here.

            His mother introduces him to Mr. Claudius Templesmith, a portly man, slightly balding who is the acting foreman in the factory. Peeta takes the older man’s hand firmly and agrees to a tour. His mother, for once, follows behind the two men silently, too busy observing her factory to interrupt with her nagging comments for once.

            Walking down the aisles between the gargantuan machinery doesn’t change Peeta’s initial impression at all. It’s even hotter here, where no breeze can reach between the churning gears, and he pulls out his handkerchief to dab away the sweat beading on his forehead. They walk past dozens of workers⎯ mostly young women⎯ as Mr. Templesmith points out this part or that product. Peeta barely hears the older man’s words however, too preoccupied by the furtive glances he catches as they walk by.

            Some are merely curious, other’s rife with jealousy, but most are haunting. He can tell the bone breaking work in front of them wears them down but failure is not an option. Peeta wonders how many little bellies are depending on them to press on. Yes, there is no doubt in Peeta’s mind that this must be some form of hell on Earth.

            His gut clenches as he peers down each aisle, expecting any moment to see the once so lively face of Katniss Everdeen, now a haunting shadow of herself like so many of the other workers. They arrive at the other side of the factory however, and Peeta has yet to spy the girl of his memories.

            A loud whistle blows, bringing Peeta back to focus on his mother and Mr. Templesmith. Immediately the machines whirr slowly to a stop, leaving behind a nearly as deafening silence. The only sound to be heard now is the chatter of the workers who, just as quickly as the machines, have stopped their work and are now filing toward the door of the factory for lunch.

            “How long is this lunch break?” Adelaide Mellark asks, looking down her long, slender nose at the workers as they shuffle by, their voices dropping to whispers as they pass and cast secret glances at the stately woman.

            “A half hour, Madame.” Mr. Templesmith responds quickly, a quirk of a smile on his lips, as though he’s quite proud of something.

            “A half of an hour,” Adelaide repeats flatly, “Do they really need a half hour to simply eat?”

            Peeta nearly laughs at his mother’s question, finding it astoundingly hypocritical. Typically her petite luncheons can last anywhere around two hours, even more if there are ladies present with intriguing gossip. He holds his tongue though, knowing that speaking against her here will not lead to anything good later once they’ve returned home.

            “Most of them go to the tavern at the end of the road, The Hob?” Mr. Templesmith says as a question before he realizes that this lady would never have heard of such an establishment. “Any shorter and they would barely be able to sit down let alone eat before they would have to return.”

            “Can’t they bring their lunches with them here?” Adelaide asks, poorly concealed irritation gracing her naturally sharp features, “Children do it every-“

            Peeta’s attention is suddenly shifted away from his mother’s voice to a much softer, smoother one that is approaching on his left. It’s a low murmur followed by a higher pitched giggle but Peeta turns and begins walking down the closest aisle. He knows that voice.

            Katniss never spoke much and never directly to him but he had heard her speak to Prim enough as they walked out of the schoolyard at the end of each day. Not to mention the fact that he’s dreamed about her nearly every night since she stopped coming to school. He would know her voice anywhere.

            He turns the corner sharply and nearly runs into a girl that only reaches his stomach in height. She’s a tiny thing, fine boned and petite, with smooth dark skin and even darker hair pulled back tightly in a bushy ponytail.

            “I am so terribly sorry,” he apologizes and the young girl blushes, the dark tone of her skin taking on an even deeper shade as her eyes widen and she ducks her head.

            Peeta hears a sharp intake of breath from beside her and looks up. A surprised and delighted quiver runs down his spine when he finds himself looking into the familiar grey eyes of Katniss Everdeen. For a moment, words leave him and he can do nothing other than stare. He has half a mind to be embarrassed by his behavior but the fact that Katniss also seems to be stunned into silence comforts him a bit.

            “Katniss,” he finally manages, his voice sounding too loud and high pitched on his ears. He cringes internally but relaxes his face into a smile.

            She doesn’t move, doesn’t smile, doesn’t speak a word. Peeta has seen rabbits do the same thing when they catch the scent of a predator nearby. He wonders idly if Katniss has ever seen a rabbit and wagers a guess that, being from the Seam, she probably has not. Most of those who live in the Seam are born and die there, never having made it more than a handful of miles from their home. There certainly aren’t any rabbits wandering around the inner city.

            “How are you?” he tries, hoping that a proper question might bring her back to her senses or at least summon up her well-bred manners. He knows her mother came from the middle class and raised her daughters to behave like ladies. Prim has shown him that much.

            This seems to do the trick, as Katniss shakes her head almost imperceptibly before speaking.

            “I am well, Mr. Mellark,” she replies in that soft-spoken, slow manner so characteristic of her. She said his name- or at least his surname. Peeta’s heart soars and he must remind himself not to look like a giddy schoolboy. That would only scare her off and he couldn’t have that now that she’s spoken to him. To him. To Peeta Mellark. He realizes too late that a silly grin has found its way to his lips and clears his throat before continuing.

            “Your presence has been sorely missed at school,” he says and immediately wants to kick himself for it. She probably doesn’t want to be reminded about her old life from before the factory. She probably doesn’t care whether her presence is missed, only that her family is fed and kept safe.

            “How kind of you to say so, Mr. Mellark,” she says, the epitome of politeness, though Peeta doesn’t miss how she tugs nervously at her sleeves. How he wishes she might call him Peeta, to hear his name on those sweet lips in that soft voice. He imagines a different sort of reunion inside his head; one where Katniss throws her arms about his neck and professes her love to him. But he shakes his head slightly to rid himself of the thought. Katniss Everdeen would never behave thus. That sort of affection would come from someone like Kathleen Cleary, a girl that Peeta is sure Katniss is less than fond of⎯ though she would never openly admit so to him.

            The young girl beside Katniss tugs gently at the older girl’s skirts and Katniss looks down at her. They have some sort of wordless exchange as Peeta notes the way Katniss’s dress hangs loosely about her waist, not at all as it does in his dreams. He sees the hollowness in her cheeks then, a remnant of all those months ago when he threw here that bread. He frowns; has her financial status not improved through this backbreaking work?

            He’s still working out a way to ask her this politely when she turns her attention away from Rue and back to him, instantly he forgets any progress he’s made in trying to ask the question.

            “Rue and I must be going if we’re to have lunch and be back to work by the whistle,” she says, placing a hand on the younger girl’s shoulder. She must be Rue. Peeta notes that the name suits her; a delicate child for a delicate flower. “It was lovely seeing you again, Mr. Mellark.”

            “Of course, how rude of me!” Peeta says stepping out of their way though he wants to stay planted firmly between her and the door. He wants to keep her here with him. No. No, he wants to take her away from here with him. He wants to take her out of this city; maybe out to the small rural town where his father’s bakery is, where fields surround you on every side. He thinks Katniss might like that. But it’s a silly thought because it would be impossible.

            “It was good to see you again, Katniss,” he says softly after her retreating form.

            “Peeta?” His mother’s grating voice calls from over his shoulder where he presumes she still standing with Mr. Templesmith. She must have just noticed his absence.

            “Yes, Mother?” he asks as he finds her just where he left her, looking a bit flushed from what inevitably must have turned into an argument with Mr. Templesmith.

            “We’re leaving,” she states tersely as she walks past him, grabbing his arm at the elbow as though he’s an abhorrent street child and not her nearly grown son.

            As the automobile creeps slowly down the road in the direction of Mellark Mansion, Peeta finds himself scanning the crowd of factory workers shuffling down the sidewalk, hoping for one last glimpse of Katniss but she seems to have disappeared along with Rue. His mother is prattling on about her dislike for Claudius Templesmith and how he doesn’t listen well to his superiors. She states factually that she’ll be looking for a replacement “tout de suite.”

            Peeta can’t be bothered to really listen to the old woman. His mind is too lost in his short but wonderful conversation with Katniss. Sure she had barely spoken and only in the most formal tones but she had indeed spoken. To him. Using his name. She knew his name. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth and he doesn’t fight it. Today is a wonderful day, after all.

 

…

 

_Katniss_

 

            I can feel Rue’s eyes on me as we walk down the street towards the Hob though she remains silent. We’ve nearly completed our journey when she finally decides she can’t take it anymore.

            “You know Mister Mellark!” she exclaims quickly, so it comes out sounding as though it’s all one word.

            I sigh lightly, “I do.”

            “You never said you knew him,” Rue says in awe, her sweet doe eyes focused intently on me.

            “It never came up. I’m only acquainted with him, Rue. It’s not as though we’re friends,” I say though it’s only partially true. I might not be friends with Peeta Mellark but we’re more than simple acquaintances. He did save my life after all and I owe him for that. I suppose it makes me more of an investment than a friend.

            I couldn’t believe my eyes when Peeta Mellark came flying around the corner of an aisle in the factory. I had not expected to ever see him again⎯ though I realize that it was foolish to think so. Of course Peeta would be by, occasionally at least, to inspect the factory. His mother did own the place after all and he is one of three possible heirs.

            A smile creeps to my lips when I think of the shock on his face as he looked up from his profuse apology to Rue. He looked as though he’d seen something wonderful, like a green pasture at sunset, rather than my sweaty form. I personally would have cringed at seeing myself in such a state. Luckily, there aren’t any mirrors for me to observe how mussed my hair must be or the dark tracks of dust across my cheeks.

            Rue gives a sly look, “He didn’t seem like you were only acquaintances. He seemed like he knew you awfully well when he was smiling at you. The way he was so nervous, I would think that he finds your company more than pleasing.”

            “Rue!” I scoff, “Don’t be ridiculous. Can you imagine that? A factory heir more than friends with a Seam brat.”

            I laugh at the thought though Rue doesn’t seem to find it as amusing as I do. Judging by the pensive look she’s giving me, I don’t think I’ve deterred her thought process at all.  She smiles at me after a moment.

            “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter much anyway, does it?” she says with a giggle. “I don’t think he’ll be coming back anytime soon. Did you see how sweaty he was? And it’s not even summertime! He’s definitely not made to work in the factories.”

            I laugh at her amused grin and we enter the Hob. It’s really bustling in here today and we’re a bit late since Peeta’s visit held us up for a few minutes. Sae sees us enter, however, and waves Rue over, two bowls of today’s soup already waiting on the counter for us.

            We find two seats at a small table farthest back in the main room. It’s so far back, in fact, that it’s nearly in the doorjamb of the adjoining room. Rue is in the middle of telling me the story of how her brother Derrick used to ride the family’s dog around like a horse when a door to the back room is opened, light from outside pouring into the dark, dusty abyss.

            A feminine form walks in and promptly mutters some unsavory words when she runs into a side table. There’s a click and a dim light fills the room, revealing a woman only a few years my senior with deeply tanned skin and wide brown eyes. She’s stunningly beautiful, lovely curves and flawless skin⎯ however, my attention is not on any of this but rather her brown hair, which she wears cut short, like a boy. Rue is staring too with a slightly stunned expression.

            The woman doesn’t seem to notice us sitting there watching her as she searches about the room for something she must have misplaced. Mr. Abernathy slips by us through the doorway, having noticed the light suddenly coming from the room.

            “What’re you doing down here, girl? I thought you weren’t working tonight?” he asks before taking a swig of some unidentified liquid from a flask he keeps in his suit coat pocket.

            “I’m not,” she replies tersely, bending over in a most unladylike manner to look under a chaise lounge. “I lost one of my earrings last night. You haven’t found it have you, you old drunkard?”

            My mouth drops open at her rudeness. As Rue had told me, everyone knows that Mr. Abernathy is a drunk, one look at his teetering form right now could confirm it, but I would never in a million years dream of calling him thus. Mr. Abernathy gives a sharp laugh though, unperturbed by this woman’s behavior.

            “That I have not, Johanna,” Mr. Abernathy remarks sarcastically, “A joy to see your lovely face again as always, however.”

            My attention is held in a trance by this odd conversation. Never before have I heard a woman speak so boldly to anyone, let alone to a man, even if he is a drunk. This woman, Johanna, doesn’t seem to realize that her behavior is unladylike or if she does then she doesn’t seem to care a single pinch.

            The woman rolls her eyes at Mr. Abernathy, “Stuff it, Haymitch. Ah-ha!” She spies the earring lying on the floor underneath the side table she bumped into when she first entered the room. I don’t know if I’m more stunned by her calling Mr. Abernathy by his first name or the way she lunges across the floor on her hands and knees to grab it.

            “Oh wonderful, you’ve found it,” Mr. Abernathy says, “And just how is it you managed to lose another earring, Johanna? Didn’t you just lose one three evenings ago?”

            Katniss isn’t the most worldly girl around but she can detect the double meaning in a sentence when she hears it and she knows Mr. Abernathy isn’t simply speaking about matters concerning earrings.

            “I did. And I will lose as many as I please since it’s no business of yours.” She straightens up and sways her hips, skirts brushing the ground softly as she does.

            “You just keep your head low, girl. If Cray finds out about the side business you girls run upstairs-“

            “Cray won’t find out,” she snaps, interrupting whatever warning he was about to voice. “Besides I didn’t do it for money. You know very well I never do. I dance for you on the clock and the rest is on my time. Now Clove on the other hand-“

            “Not another word,” Mr. Abernathy cuts her off, “I don’t want to hear it. If I don’t know what goes on behind those doors, they can’t prosecute me.”

            “Oh please,” Johanna scoffs, “they’ll arrest you if they want to. You think just because you pretend you don’t know about the whoring that goes on around here you’ll be safe, but you’re wrong. What do you think they’ll do to the man who boards all the whores? Think they’ll manage to charge you for running a brothel? Mayor Undersee doesn’t seem to take matters like this lightly.”

            “Don’t you have somewhere else you need to be?” Mr. Abernathy grumbles, heat visibly rising to his ears, “I think I’ve had enough of you for one day.”

            “I could say the same for you, you old bastard,” Johanna retorts as though she’s just given him a pleasant compliment. Mr. Abernathy slowly makes his way out of the room and back to the bar, muttering to himself as he goes. This leaves Johanna alone in the dim back room and she catches sight of Rue and I staring.

            “Enjoying the show, then?” she asks, raising a pretty little brow before walking out the same way she came in, giving a cackle as she turns the light off, plunging the back room into darkness as she does.

            Rue and I are both silent for another moment, staring into the darkness and trying to absorb what just happened.

            “I’ve never…” Rue whispers, eyes still wide and staring into the black abyss.

            “Neither have I,” I chuckle which brings her attention back to our table with a smile.

            “She must be one of Mr. Abernathy’s girls; the ones who perform at night,” Rue proposes and I nod in agreement.

            “I think you must be right, Rue. She certainly doesn’t have the manners of a lady,” I note, spooning some of Sae’s mystery soup into my mouth. “Though I didn’t know there was any more to it than the singing and dancing.” Rue shrugs as indication that she had no clue either.

            “Did you see her hair?” Rue wonders, “I have never seen anything like it. It was shorter than some of the men’s.”

            I chuckle and shake my head. Whoever this Johanna girl is, she certainly has her own sense of propriety and boundaries. She may not be conventional but I respect her spirit even if it does mortify me to imagine saying such things.

            Rue and I finish our meal in a hurry and are just scraping the bottom of our bowls when the factory whistles blow their warning. I stand, wondering how in the world the day could only be halfway over. It’s already been an interesting morning and I hope the afternoon is much more subdued. I don’t think my nerves could take any more surprises.

 

…

 

            Several weeks later I return home from my shift at the factory carrying a notice from the landlord that our rent is overdue by a week. With my pay at the end of the week, however, I should have earned enough to cover the rent so I toss the letter on the small table next to the door of our bedroom where we keep all of our important possessions that we don’t want to be lost.

            Mother is already asleep, curled up under the warm covers of the bed. Today must have been another bad day. Ever since she saved Prim several weeks ago, she seems to be struggling to stay with us. Some days she gets out of bed and is dressed to see patients as early as eight in the morning. Other days, like today I suspect, she barely manages to get up and eat before she returns to bed. While her income has been a welcome relief, it has been irregular at best and I can’t rely on her to scrape together the rent.

            Thanksgiving is only a week away and the factory has been pressing us to work faster to keep up with the holiday demands. Mr. Templesmith is no longer foreman there, replaced instead by Mr. Brutus Goldbloom, a harsh, unsmiling man with more muscle than sense. The best way to deal with the foreman that I have found is to avoid him completely. This doesn’t prove all that difficult as he doesn’t seem to have taken any interest in me. He does shout demands at some of the older, slower workers however, even going so far as to slam his fist into a machine just yesterday, subsequently breaking a fragile gear along with his middle knuckle. The machine was quickly fixed and running again by the afternoon but the same cannot be said for Mr. Goldbloom’s hand.

            All of this change in itself is not worrisome to me. I’ve become rather used to keeping my head low and working efficiently throughout the day. However, today we were told that our pay would be cut in half, leaving me to earn only a dollar and twenty-five cents a day and no way to make up the difference. This news leaves my mind reeling even now, hours after it was announced, because I have no idea how I might keep up with the bills. It was already difficult enough when I was being paid the full amount. I have no room to complain though, I’m well aware of this. If I speak up, Mr. Goldbloom would no sooner kick me to the curb and have a new worker in my place by lunchtime.

            I shake my head and go to my mother’s side. She snores softly and I decide not to try and wake her. I’ll talk to her tomorrow about working more reliably so that we might rely on her income. If she were to start working every day again, we might be able to cover all our expenses. Maybe. I hope. I’m running out of ideas despite my best efforts.

            When I return to the kitchen to fix myself a light supper before bed, Prim is settled comfortably on the couch with a familiar white paper bag sitting in her lap. I frown as she looks up like a cat caught with the canary.

            “Prim, what’s in that bag?” I question, moving to sit down next to her.

            “Cookies,” she admits reluctantly.

            “Cookies,” I repeat in surprise. “How on Earth did you manage to get cookies?”

            My younger sister squirms under my gaze and I know that I’m not going to like her excuse.

            “Peeta Mellark gave them to me at school. He said he baked them yesterday and thought I might like them,” she mumbles, looking to the crumpled bag in her lap. “He sent some along for you as well.”

            She was right to squirm. Anger builds inside of me though it’s not entirely directed at her. I had told her to stay clear of Peeta Mellark and now I find out that he’s giving her cookies. I hesitate to imagine what else she’s been doing with him before deciding to simply ask. The truth can’t be any worse than my imagination.

            “Why would Peeta Mellark be giving you cookies, Prim?” I ask flatly, trying not to sound as furious as I am with the situation.

            “He was just being nice, Katniss,” Prim argues in her defense but looks back to her lap again when I shoot her a withering glare. “We’ve been talking at school. I mentioned how much I used to love the shortbread cookies Father bought at Christmas time,” she admits guiltily.

            “Prim, I thought we agreed that it was better if you left the Mellarks alone,” I say softly, trying to lessen the sting of my anger.

            Prim looks up, eyes wide and hurt, “But, Katniss, he’s not at all like what you think. He’s so very kind and easy to talk to. He doesn’t expect anything from it. He just enjoys talking.”

            I refrain from rolling my eyes, “And just what do you talk about with him?”

            “Everything,” she says simply, her eyes lighting up. “Anything really. He mostly listens, but sometimes he tells me funny stories. Did you know he has a summer cottage outside the city where they keep all kinds of animals, even a goat?”

            I ignore her question. Of course I didn’t know this. How would I know anything about Peeta Mellark? I had never spoken to him before the few sentences we exchanged weeks ago in the factory. She doesn’t wait for me to respond before continuing.

            “He still asks about you sometimes,” she admits with a hint of a smile pulling at her lips hopefully.

            I scowl at the thought. He still remembers the debt I owe him I expect. He’s spending time with Prim to remind me that he still knows how to find me when he does decide to ask for payment. I note the innocent expression on Prim’s face and my heart sinks. Perhaps, as I had thought before, he truly does want to use her as payment. Perhaps he hopes to follow in his brother’s footsteps and Prim will be the first Seam girl he woos. The first girl he ruins.

            My scowl deepens. I will not let Peeta Mellark hurt my sister. The school’s holiday play is coming up next Saturday evening and I expect he will be there along with all the other students. I’ll be sure I’m there as well and Peeta Mellark will get a piece of my mind. I had already planned to attend since the school purposely schedules the play for after the factories close so that the working parents might be able to attend. Peeta Mellark is just one more reason I have to be there just in case I needed another.

            By the time we part that night, he’ll know that my sister is not an option for repayment of our debt. It’s a price much too high for the bread that saved our lives. I refuse to pay it no matter what that might lead to.

 

…

 

            I stand in the hallway outside the gymnasium as families pour out of the doorway on their way to celebrate or walk home. Prim had performed so well tonight, delivering all five of her lines flawlessly. She has been practicing them nonstop for the past three days, worried that she might forget them once she was onstage. She hadn’t though, of course. I had never expected anything otherwise.

            Currently, I can see her speaking with a group of her classmates, laughing carelessly about some joke between them. A smile pulls at my lips as I watch her, waiting for the one person I am determined to talk to right now. It’s nearly ten minutes later, when almost all the other families have left, by the time Peeta Mellark makes an appearance.

            He’s alone and he doesn’t notice me at first, a distracted smile turning the corners of his lips up as he walks out of the brightly lit gymnasium carrying his costume in his arms. I step out of the shadow where I’ve been standing and he gives half a glance in my direction before carrying on, not really noticing me. It’s not as though he’s purposely snubbed me, but the fact that he didn’t see me rubs me the wrong way. I straighten up, pushing my shoulders back as far as I can in hopes that doing so might make me look bigger than my slight frame.

            “What do you think you’re doing, Mr. Mellark?” I ask unceremoniously, taking another step forward so I’m fully in the light.

            “Katniss!” he says, clearly surprised to see me standing so close and looking a tad flustered by my unexpected presence. “I- I was just in the play- pilgrim,” he explains disjointedly, holding up the black costume hat as proof with an embarrassed smile.

            “That’s not what I mean. I mean, what are you doing talking with my sister at lunch and sending her home with cookies? Why is a boy like you spending time with a girl like her?” I demand, crossing my arms.

            He quirks an eyebrow, an amused smile taking the place of his embarrassed one, “I like spending time with Prim. She’s a sweet girl and she’s a good subject for me to practice my sketching.”

            “Cut the bull, Mellark,” I say boldly. Disrespectfully, my mother would say but she’s not here and that’s half the problem. If she’d just stuck around, I might not be standing in front of Peeta Mellark throwing angry words at him. I would still be in school and I would still be able to look after my sister from across the lunchroom.

            I cross my arms, doing my best to look stern and intimidating, “Any girl you asked would sit for you while you draw her. Why Prim? Is it about the bread?”

            “Wh- what?” Peeta stutters, clearly taken aback by my accusations, “Katniss, Prim is kind and funny. She’s nice to talk with during lunch. This has never been about the bread.” He shakes his head slowly, as though he can’t believe what I’ve said, and he raises his hands out, palms up, as if to show me he means no harm.

            “Leave her alone, Mr. Mellark,” I order sternly, not at all convinced by his act of innocence. I’ve seen his brothers pull the wool over too many girls’ eyes to think he’s telling me the truth right now. “I know what boys like you want with an innocent, unsuspecting Seam girl like Prim, and I’m not going to let her be taken advantage of.”

            His look is one of pure shock when I finish, “Katniss, no. I’m not- I would never- I couldn’t. Prim and I are friends- just friends. I have no intentions like that toward her in any way-”

            “I owe you for the bread. I understand that Mr. Mellark, but I can’t stand idly by while you endanger my sister’s reputation. I will repay you for everything you’ve done for us but not like this.” Peeta continues to look completely horrified and something starts nagging inside of me, like I’ve done something wrong. But I haven’t done anything wrong, I remind myself. I have to stop this before Prim gets hurt.

            “You don’t owe me anything, Katniss,” he whispers, his blue eyes piercing me in a way I had not expected. He looks hurt, as though I’ve insulted him with my accusations. “I only gave you stale bread. If anything, I should owe you.”

            I step away from him, disconcerted by the sudden change of direction our conversation has taken and those damn eyes that see straight through me. My eyes narrow suspiciously and a scowl forms on my face, “Why would you owe me anything?”

            “You were starving to death. You were going to die. I should have done more,” he says softly, watching for my reaction.

            My eyes widen. Die. I had know that death was the alternative to taking the bread but it sounds so much more terrible coming from his lips. The way he says it makes it sound as though death is the worst imaginable thing that could have happened. He’s wrong, of course. There are far worse fates than death when you live in the Seam.

            “People die in the Seam from starvation every day. It’s my responsibility to keep my family alive, not yours,” I argue but the words come out soft because I can’t seem to give them the correct intonation I’m so transfixed by this strange boy in front of me.

            He’s confusing, Peeta Mellark is. I can’t imagine any other industry heir saying such ridiculous things with a completely straight face, almost as though he honestly means it; that I don’t owe a debt to him. I don’t trust him one bit, though. He puts on a good front, one of the best I’ve seen, but I’m certain underneath all that is the same seed of greed and hatred that all the industrialists bear.

            Prim steps out into the hallway and spots us immediately, a bright grin breaking across her face as she walks towards us. I take another step away from Peeta, realizing just how close we had gotten during our heated exchange. Prim doesn’t seem to take notice though as she edges up next to me.

            “Hello, Peeta!” she chirps happily. “You performed wonderfully. You’re the perfect picture of a pilgrim. Don’t you think so, Katniss?” Her blue eyes turn to focus on me.

            I try to erase the frown from my face but I’m not sure I’m entirely successful, “Sure he was, but you were a star out there tonight, Little Duck,” I say, giving her a hug, which she gratefully accepts. Peeta watches us both with a faint smile.

            “You were wonderful, Prim. You’re acting far outshines mine. I think I’ll stick to drawing from now on,” Peeta says by way of congratulation when Prim turns to him again.

            She smiles toothily, “You should show Katniss your drawings sometime, Peeta. I don’t think she quite believes me when I tell her how lovely they are.”

            She shoots me a sidelong glance and I don’t miss her meaning. She thinks that if I see how well Peeta draws that it will speak for his intentions. She couldn’t be farther from the truth, though. I know that people of Peeta’s status are taught all kinds of refined hobbies from the time they can walk and talk. His ability would only indicate to me just how wealthy he indeed is.

            “Perhaps sometime I will,” he responds, smiling halfheartedly at me, unaware of Prim’s ulterior motives. I don’t return his smile and I know Mother would be appalled. She would demand to know how I ever expected to find a husband with such a dour attitude. Prim notices my response and frowns a little herself.

            “We should be going,” I say, placing my hand on Prim’s elbow to guide her toward the door.

            “Do you work tomorrow?” Peeta asks, not quite taking my hint as he follows along beside us.

            “I-“

            “She doesn’t!” Prim says quickly before I can respond. She blushes and ducks her head when I turn to glare at her.

            “I don’t. Tomorrow is Sunday, Mr. Mellark. You of all people should know the textile mill is closed on Sunday,” I answer giving him a pointed look.

            He gives a conspiratorial grin and turns his attention to Prim. I glare at him this time, knowing immediately that he’s up to something.

            “Well, I dare say I’m a bit hungry after all that acting. I do believe I could stand to eat some ice cream if I had the company of two beautiful ladies.” He’s watching Prim intently and her face lights up with joy.

            “No,” I respond before she can open her mouth. Her face falls immediately.

            “Please, Katniss,” she begs, looking just like the twelve year old she is for once, “Please just this once to celebrate.”

            “Absolutely not, Prim,” I return firmly, avoiding her gaze since she’s likely to break my resolve. I don’t care to admit it in front of Peeta but money is impossibly tight. I’m not even sure if I’ll be able to afford the rent this month let alone pay for ice cream, no matter how special the occasion.

            Peeta looks a bit crestfallen as well, though he doesn’t argue. It’s not until Prim sniffles quietly, in the most dignified manner possible, that my resolve begins to melt. Peeta wordlessly hands her his handkerchief, a fine thing with the initials PM embroidered on it in orange of all colors. I’m sure it cost him half of my week’s salary for something so lovely. Prim dabs at her nose before handing it back to him.

            “You keep it. I have plenty more,” he assures her softly as he folds it into her hands.

            “Prim,” I whisper as quietly as I can in hopes that Peeta might not hear. “We just can’t afford it right now. Not when the rent is already late. I’m sorry.” Heat rises to my cheeks as guilt claws away at my chest.

            Her watery blue eyes meet mine and she nods wordlessly in understanding. That understanding kills me. I hate that she can be so reasonable about her disappointment because she’s become so accustom to it. I hate that I can’t give her this on such a special occasion. Our father would have found a way to manage it, but it seems he had secrets about money I haven’t figured out yet and there are more bills to pay than money to go around anymore.

            “I didn’t mean to cry,” she apologizes in a whisper to match my own. “I don’t know why I did.”

            “That’s okay, Prim. I’m sorry we can’t-“

            Peeta clears his throat loudly. I turn to look at him, a scowl already gracing my visage before he even has a chance to speak. His face is awash with guilt and he can hardly hold my gaze before looking down and fiddling with the chain of his pocket watch.

            “Any gentleman would pay for the ladies who accompany him,” he mumbles, blue eyes peering at me through impossibly long eyelashes.

            “We can’t accept that, Peeta,” I say flatly, suddenly exhausted from the argument and now this situation with Prim. A blush creeps to my cheeks when I realize I’ve addressed him so informally but he doesn’t seem to mind or perhaps he doesn’t notice.

            “I would appreciate it if you would, Katniss. I enjoy Prim’s company and I certainly can’t go alone. I would be the talk of everyone in the shop. The sad old man who doesn’t have any company,” he states. I give him a knowing look and he tries another route, “I would only pay if you would let me draw you while we’re there.”

            I stare at him blankly⎯ rudely, my mother would have said. He’s giving me a deal- a bargain- so that I don’t owe him anymore than I already do. Already he’s figured me out well enough to know the reason for my hesitation, not that it is all that difficult to after I just spoke so harshly towards him. I open my mouth to refuse but he beats me to it.

            “It’s more than a fair exchange. I always pay a few coins to anyone who sits for me.” I give him an unconvinced look and he scrambles, taking a step closer to me, using my moment of hesitation against me, “You would be doing me a favor. The only way an artist improves is through practice with new subjects.”

            “See, Katniss. You would be helping,” Prim says softly, with a wisp of hope in her smile, “Please.” She tugs gently at my shawl.

            I smile gently down at my little sister who, against all possibility, can still get excited over the promise of ice cream. She doesn’t truly understand how humbling this is for me, that I cannot provide such a simple joy for her on my own. But I can’t refuse her this either now that I’ve been offered the opportunity to give it to her.

            I give a little sigh, “Very well. We’ll accompany you just this once, Mr. Mellark, to celebrate Prim’s excellent performance.”

            Prim claps her hands happily as a wide smile breaks across her face, warming my heart instantly. She doesn’t get to be a child often enough. I look to Peeta and see he’s grinning contentedly as well.

            “Wonderful,” is all he says in reply before directing us out the doors of the school. He offers us each an arm but I step away, trying to subtly refuse it. Much to my dismay, Prim doesn’t hesitate to link her arm with his, placing a refined hand on his forearm.

            It’s not a long walk to the ice cream parlor but by the time we get there I feel as though I’m in an entirely different city. It’s just three blocks from the border of the Seam but the difference is shocking. The building is clean and proper with a lovely stone façade and mahogany woodwork. I had erroneously thought we would be going to the small Italian deli that sells three flavors of ice cream just around the corner from our school. It would cost almost half a week’s groceries just to pay for our ice cream here. Blood rushes to my cheeks as we walk through the doors and are met by the curious looks of the moderately wealthy business families.

            We aren’t far enough from the city center for this to be the social gathering place of the industrialists’ children but we’re too far from the Seam to feel comfortable. Mostly small business owners and other middle class citizens are scattered about the room and I know I must stick out with my Seam looks and poorly fitted clothing. Prim seems oblivious of this, however, as she walks over to the glass cases and looks at the many choices available. A young man dressed in a white apron walks over to her with a smile. Everyone always smiles at Prim. They can’t help but find her naturally endearing.

            Her mouth is open in a tiny ‘o’ of awe as she looks at the sweet treats before her. Peeta and I step up just behind her and she looks up at me with a toothy grin.

            “It all looks so wonderful,” she says, sweetly.

            “You can have anything you want, Prim.” Peeta assures her as he orders himself a scoop of chocolate ice cream. “What would you like?”

            Prim blushes and looks at me guiltily. I frown but before I can ask what’s wrong she leans on her toes and leans in to whisper in Peeta’s ear. He happily obliges, leaning forward as she raises a hand so I can’t see what she’s saying. Peeta chuckles, small creases forming at the corners of his eyes as he laughs.

            “Of course you can. I said anything you’d like,” Peeta assures her before turning to me, “And what would you like, Katniss?”

            I stare at him for a moment, “I’m quite alright without ice cream, Mr. Mellark, but I thank you.”

            His face falls a bit before he seems to regain his composure, smiling brightly, “Now that wasn’t the agreement, Katniss. I’m treating you and Prim to ice cream so I can sketch your portrait. It’s not fair if you only receive half of the payment.”

            “Your payment is far more than a silly sketch is worth,” I counter, looking down at my hands folded together in front of me.

            “Why don’t you let the artist be the judge of that?” Peeta murmurs. When I look up, my gaze locks with his and I can’t help but look away with a blush. He’s such a strange boy, Peeta Mellark. He waits another moment before asking again, “What would you like?”

            “I-“

            “She likes butter pecan,” Prim says softly before I can try to refuse again.

            Peeta gives a light smile before turning to order and I glare at Prim. She has a strange half smile as she watches me and gives an almost imperceptible shrug of her shoulders. Mother would have told her it’s rude to interrupt other people’s conversations and for once I agree with Mother’s obsession with manners. The young man behind the counter fills the order and Peeta settles the bill before handing Prim an enormous bowl of strawberry and chocolate ice cream. I give her a stern look as she practically floats with her dish to an empty table.

            “Here you are, Katniss,” he says holding out a dish to me, this one is much smaller than Prim’s thankfully. I reluctantly take the fine glass dish from him and we join Prim at the table.

            “Thank you,” I say softly, trying my best to convey in two words just how grateful I am that Prim could be happy tonight.

            “You’re more than welcome, Katniss,” he says, smiling softly. “I’m pleased that I was able to convince you to join me.”

            “Katniss loves ice cream,” Prim pipes up as she takes a big spoonful of ice cream. “Our father used to take us to the little Italian place every year for her birthday and she would always order butter pecan.”

            “Is that so?” Peeta asks, look to me in amusement. “Well at that rate you only have to wait another six months before you’ll have ice cream again,” he remarks offhandedly.

            I look away from him and Prim falls silent. It’s only a moment before Peeta realizes what he’s said and backpedals.

            “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean- I wasn’t thinking-“

            I look at him and muster up a halfhearted smile. His eyes are wide and worried and Prim is watching us with a sad little look that so rarely graces her face.

            “It’s okay,” I assure him though my heart feels as though it’s being ripped from my chest. “You didn’t mean any harm by it. It was only a joke.”

            “Not a very good one,” he mutters, ducking his head as though he’s mentally berating himself.

            “Good jokes are hard to come by these days,” I assure him, trying to relieve some of his guilt. I know he didn’t mean anything by it and Prim was only trying to reminisce over a wonderful memory with our father. I’m surprised I haven’t had more moments like these, where I’m reminded just how much I miss my father now that he’s gone.

            “When will you draw Katniss’ picture?” Prim asks in a less-than-subtle attempt to change the subject.

            Peeta looks up at me hesitantly, as though he’s afraid I might walk out at any moment after what he’s said. “I can once you finish your ice cream, if that’s alright,” He says softly, blue eyes searching my face slowly, for what I haven’t the slightest idea.

            I’ve eaten half of what Peeta ordered for me and I’m already more than satisfied so I push the dish toward Prim who smiles at me like a cat who ate a canary. I chuckle lightly as she digs into this dish as well. That child has always had such a sweet tooth. Father always said that’s why she has such a sweet temperament.

            “Alright then,” Peeta says, having watched our exchange. He reaches inside his suit coat and pulls out a folded piece of paper, nothing special and slightly wrinkled but it’s clean. He pulls a pencil out next before turning to look at me again. Our gazes meet and he stares at me for a long moment until I drop my eyes to the table before a blush can rise to my cheeks.

            “I don’t know how you’d like me to sit,” I mumble embarrassedly. Most girls outside of the Seam have had their portrait drawn at least once by the time they’re sixteen so they would have some sense about what to do while someone draws you. It’s a very rare occurrence for Seam girls to be drawn or photographed for that matter.

            “That’s okay. You’re lovely as you are,” Peeta assures me softly, his voice a gently whisper. “Just lift your chin a bit and look at me. Stay as still as you can.”

            I blush at Peeta’s words and do as he says, hoping that he won’t notice the redness of the blood rushing to my cheeks. Prim continues to eat happily, glancing over Peeta’s busy hands every so often and smiling at me.

            I try to stay still like Peeta asked but I find it’s far more difficult than one would think. The muscles in my neck seem to stiffen and twitch as my nose decides to itch for the first time in days.

            Peeta smiles when he glances up and catches me tilting my head to stretch a muscle in my neck ever so slightly, “You’re doing very well. I’m nearly finished.”

            “That was quick,” I murmur, trying not to move my lips.

            “It’s just a rough sketch. It would take much longer to do a full drawing but I don’t want you to be too uncomfortable,” he jokes lightly before leaning in closer to me. “They’re only watching because you’re so beautiful.”

            My blush renews and I realize why he thinks I’m uncomfortable. As I look around at the surrounding tables, I realize we’re receiving glances from all the other customers in the parlor. Some give brief, sidelong glances but others are more overtly staring. I squirm under their gazes now that I’m aware of them.

            “Just another minute,” he assures me, lips turned up in the slightest of smiles, his teeth catching his bottom lip in concentration.

            Prim finishes her ice cream and stands to look over Peeta’s shoulder.

            She flashes me a brilliant smile. “Wait until you see it. It looks just like you, Katniss.”

            “Just a little more- there. Finished,” Peeta says, leaning away from the paper and placing the pencil down on the table. I unfreeze and lean to glance down at the picture curiously. A little frown forms on my lips and I pick the paper up to get a better look.

            “What do you think?” Peeta questions, looking slightly apprehensive at my reaction.

            The portrait in front of me is positively lovely, however I’m certain it looks nothing like me. There’s a small mirror in the water closet at the apartment and I’ve seen my reflection in it any number of times. The girl in the portrait in front of me is far too stunning to be the same one I see in my reflection. She has wide, light eyes, but they seem too lively. They’re set over a long, narrow nose that reminds me of my father and full dark lips that contrast her smooth complexion. The only thing that indicates this portrait is my own is the intricate braid that I know my hair is currently pulled into.

            “I- it’s-“ I stutter, unsure of what to say. As an artist he’s drawn a lovely subject but that subject surely doesn’t represent my image faithfully. I want to be honest but I don’t want to tell him it’s poorly done for fear of hurting his feelings.

            “It’s beautiful, Peeta. You’ve done a perfect job,” Prim assures him happily.

            Peeta watches me for another moment pinning me with those bright blue eyes that I swear can see straight through me and know exactly what I am thinking, “Do you like it?”

            “I- I don’t know,” I whisper so softly I’m not sure he could even hear me. It’s as honest an answer as I have to offer.

            He smiles weakly before taking the paper gently from me, folding it back up again. He then places the paper and pencil back in the pocket of his suit coat.

            “Well, I thank you for sitting for me, Katniss,” Peeta says standing from the table. Prim and I follow suit and walk out of the shop two steps behind him.

            “Thank you for tonight, Mr. Mellark. We can’t thank you enough for your generosity,” I say once we’re several steps out the door.

            “It was my pleasure. And, please, call me Peeta. We’re old acquaintances, Katniss,” He says softly.

            “It just doesn’t seem right, Mr. Mellark. People should address one another as common respect dictates,” I explain, looking again to my hands folded in front of me.

            “Then I suppose I should be calling you Miss Everdeen.”

            “Oh please don’t,” I say shaking my head vigorously as Prim chuckles.

            “Well, that is the proper way to address a lady,” Peeta says but he’s smiling sweetly, a small sparkle in his eye as if he’s laughing inwardly over my reaction.

            “I’m no lady, Mr. Mellark,” I argue, “Ladies don’t come from the Seam.”

            The sparkle is quickly extinguished and he shakes his head, “I’ll only call you Katniss if you call me Peeta.”

            Prim laughs lightly, “Stop being stubborn, Katniss. We’ve known Peeta for years.”

            I sigh, “Very well then. Thank you, Peeta, for your kindness.”

            “I hope I might be allowed to extend the offer again, Katniss.” He grins like a schoolboy who’s just won all the marbles in a game.

            “Perhaps someday,” I reply cordially though I honestly have no intention of spending any further time in the company of Peeta Mellark. It’s simply not appropriate given the different levels of society we are a part of.

            “Thank you so much, Peeta,” Prim chirps blissfully with a belly full of sugar.

            Peeta chuckles, “You are very welcome, Prim.”

            “We’ll be going then,” I say awkwardly, turning to walk back in the direction of the Seam.

            “Allow me to escort you home,” Peeta suggests. I tense. This is a complete impossibility. No industrialist ever steps foot inside the Seam unless he’s participating in some devious activity. Peeta has been raised with a gentleman’s manners but seems to lack any sense of boundary.

            “That’s unnecessary. It’s not all that far. We’ll manage just fine alone,” I answer, placing a hand on Prim’s shoulder and walking off before Peeta can respond.

 

…

_Peeta_

 

            Peeta runs a hand through his curly hair, leaving it tousled in such a way that his mother would threaten to box his ears in. He pays it no mind however, his thoughts already too occupied by the memory of his evening.

            What had started off as a less than promising night of poor singing and acting in the school play, turned out to be one of the best nights of his short life. Never before had Peeta spoken more than a few sentences to Miss Katniss Everdeen.

            Katniss. She had said his name not once but twice, never mind that once it had slipped out unbidden and the other had been forced by himself. She called him Peeta and it sounded so beautiful as the name fell from those cherry red lips.

            His heart seems to scurry around happily in his chest when he remembers how beautiful she looked, trying to sit so perfectly still while he sketched her portrait. His heart leaps as he pictures the arc of her graceful neck and the way a small bit of stubborn hair had escaped her braid to lie across her cheek. How he wishes she might let him touch that cheek, naturally flushed with pink.

            If there was any way to deny it before, there isn’t any longer. He lets out a heavy sigh as he turns down a road that leads to the Mellark Mansion. It’s a long walk from the city center and he normally takes a coach but tonight he needs time to simply think. Yes, Peeta admits, he is, quite simply, completely and perfectly besotted with Katniss Everdeen.

            Peeta smiles distractedly to himself as he pats the thin piece of paper safely tucked in the pocket closest to his heart. For a moment, he had thought about giving the portrait to Katniss. He typically doesn’t keep track of his simple practice sketches, however he couldn’t bear to part with this particular one. He can’t wait to get home and settle under the covers of his bed so that he might gaze at her image endlessly.

            Of course he had wanted to accompany Katniss and Prim home as well. He frowns at the memory of her refusal. They will be walking through some of the most dangerous neighborhoods of the city along the way and without an escort either. He nearly laughs at the thought though. Peeta doesn’t know exactly where Katniss lives but he knows she lives in the Seam, one of the most notoriously crime ridden parts of the city. If anything, Peeta is sure that Katniss would find him more of a hindrance than a protection in getting home. A grin quickly replaces the frown on his face. Her bravery and strength are two of the things that he finds most endearing about her. Peeta would be willing to gamble on the fact that Katniss would keep herself and her sister safe on the way home.

            Peeta expects that, no matter how he proposed the offer to walk the two ladies home, that offer would have been promptly turned down by Katniss. She didn’t trust him, he could gather that much. It still stings as he remembers her face when she confessed she knew he expected her to pay him back for the bread.

            A knot seems to form around his chest at the thought that he would use bread to incur a debt with her. He had told the truth. It was a pathetic half of a stale loaf of bread. He should have done more for her. He should have done so many things for her after her father died but he had been too chicken to do them. Instead, he had given her a sad excuse for help and she felt she owed him something. Once again, Peeta finds his mood tumbling from its blissful high and looks around him for something that might improve it again by distracting his thoughts. It’s been such a lovely night, he doesn’t want it to end in such a dour manner.

            A small newspaper boy scurries past him, up much too late for a child so young. The boy still has several papers in his bag and Peeta makes a quick decision.

            “Young man,” he calls after the retreating form. It freezes and turns before heading back in Peeta’s direction.

            “Yessir,” the boy pipes in a squeaky, unbroken voice.

            “What’s your name, young man?” Peeta questions, observing the boy who looks like he can’t have lived a day over eight years. Peeta knows there’s a good possibility that he’s older though since he presumably comes from the Seam where nutrition is lacking during the most important years of development. There’s a small smudge of dirt just over the boy’s nose and he has the silvery eyes so common amongst those living in the Seam. He’s skinny and looks as though he’s ready to fall asleep on his feet as he gazes up at the wealthy man curiously.

            “Carl, sir,” he answers simply.

            “And how many papers do you have left there, Carl?” Peeta asks, peering into the boy’s satchel.

            Carl’s head sags as he looks down at the offending bag before he mumbles, “Five, sir.”

            Peeta pulls two quarters from his pocket with a smile as the boy’s eyes go wide. He looks between Peeta’s face and the gleaming silver coins, unsure of which he’s afraid might disappear.

            “I’ll take them all,” Peeta says, tucking the coins into the boy’s sweaty hand and slipping the papers from the bag. “You keep the change and hurry home now, Carl. It’s late for a boy your age to be running about.”

            “Yessir! Thank you, sir!” the boy squeaks, his voice even higher as he stares at Peeta for a moment in utter amazement before he runs off into the darkness back toward the Seam.

            Peeta smiles sadly after the boy. How difficult life must be in the Seam for such a young child to be selling newspapers on a street corner every day. He wonders if Katniss ever thought about selling newspapers as a child. She would have had to disguise herself as a boy, of course, since they don’t normally hire girls for the job, but Peeta can imagine that wouldn’t matter to someone as fiery as she.

            He chuckles absently as he remembers when they were just ten years old how she punched Bobby Miller when he was bullying one of the smaller girls in school. Mother Superior had kept her in the classroom during recess for a week writing lines for her transgressions. She refused to apologize to the boy at the end of the week, saying he deserved it for bullying someone so small. She’d been sentenced to another week of lines after that.

            No, Katniss Everdeen wouldn’t have any qualms about impersonating a boy. In fact, Peeta’s not sure there are any lengths to which she might not go to protect her family. He wonders what it must be like to feel that for one’s family.

            He likes Axel well enough and they get on as well as two brothers so close in age can be expected to but he see that his feelings don’t run as deep as Katniss’s do for Prim. Peeta has never been all that close with Glenn either, a boy six years his senior with more of a love for books than the people around him. Clinical would be the best word Peeta can think of to describe his eldest brother. As for his mother, Peeta can’t think of many sacrifices he would make for her. He wouldn’t wish horrible things on her but he certainly wouldn’t step in front of a moving automobile for her.

            Peeta shakes his head to rid himself of the nasty thought.

            His father is the only person in his family that Peeta thinks he cares about nearly as much as Katniss cares for Prim. Peeta’s not sure how he would have grown up without the gentle older man in his life. His father is quite simply his best friend, though he doesn’t get to see the man enough now that he’s nearly always out at the cottage beyond the city limits.

            Bryn should be home any day now however for the fast approaching holidays and Peeta’s heart lifts at the thought. Perhaps they might just bake a fruitcake. Maybe his father could be convinced to make two so he might send one along home with Prim one day at school.

            With that happy thought in his mind, Peeta enters the front gates of Mellark Manor to make his way upstairs where a warm bed is awaiting him. Perhaps he might even think of a Christmas gift for Katniss as he waits for sleep to come for him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to place a specific warning here that this is the first chapter where the “M” rating seriously comes into play for offensive language. I’m trying my best to make this story as historically accurate as I can and, unfortunately, racism is a big part of American history, especially during this time period. Please do not take offense to any of the language used in this story as it most certainly does not reflect my own opinions but rather it is used for a purpose and to make a point.

_Peeta_

 

            “Good morning, Father,” Peeta greets, settling himself at the table for breakfast. The two men are the first of the family to rise on most mornings and the cheeriest of the bunch to boot. His mother always claimed to need her beauty rest, and Axel would never leave his bed until the sun had already set if it were up to him.

            “‘Morning, my boy,” Bryn returns, peering over his morning paper.

            Peeta waits for his father to finish reading, scooping up a mouthful of egg. The clink of silver and china are the only sounds in the room for a long while. Eventually, Bryn folds the paper back up crisply and places it to the side, exchanging it for a fork.

            “So what do you plan to do today, Peet?” Bryn questions amicably.

            “I was hoping you might have a bit of time to spare, actually,” Peeta says with a smile, “I was hoping to make fruitcake, and I know you make the best so I thought you might be willing to give me some instruction.”

            Bryn nods slowly, “I believe that we have a few hours free before your mother will wake and demand our attentions to help prepare for her holiday party.”

            Peeta gives a conspiratorial smile and goes back to his breakfast. He’s not looking forward to his mother’s party, a big reunion she throws for her family every year near Christmas, inviting Peeta’s grandmother and aunts and uncles and all of his cousins. Peeta, personally, dislikes most of his cousins. Many of them have the same snobbish, biting attitude that his mother displays. He supposes he and his brothers made out lucky that they didn’t inherit that trait of their mother’s.

            The two Mellark men spend several stolen hours down in the kitchen making several loaves of fruitcake and a batch of gingerbread cookies. The room is warm and smells like Peeta’s childhood as he bustles about the kitchen, wrapping up the cakes that have cooled while Bryn pulls out another sheet of the spicy cookies cut into the shapes of little men.

            “Dad?” Peeta questions, trying his best to sound indifferent.

            “Hmm?” Bryn hums as he deftly transfers the cookies from the sheet to the cooling rack.

            “I was wondering, with Christmas coming up and all, if I couldn’t get an advance on the pocket money you give me each week?” Peeta thinks he does a good job of keeping his voice even although his stomach churns nervously. If his father refuses his request, he won’t be able to purchase a gift for Katniss, and then he’ll have no excuse to contact her and she’ll slip right through his fingers again. He can’t let her get away again, not now that he spoke to her in the factory.

            Bryn raises his eyes to observe his youngest son. Peeta is fidgeting nervously across the counter and, Bryn thinks, trying very hard to look apathetic about his request. The older man smiles knowingly. He was a boy once too, of course. He remembers the first time he was sweet enough on a girl to think of buying her a Christmas gift in hopes that she would warm to him.

            “Sure, Peet,” Bryn says with a secret smile as he turns to ice some of the cooled cookies. “You just take whatever you need. You know where I keep the money in my office.”

            “Really?” Peeta asks, surprised it was so easy convince his father. His mother would have demanded to know what he intended to buy in excruciating detail. That’s why Peeta has always admittedly loved his father more. His father understands him.

            “Thanks, dad,” Peeta says a moment later, once he recovers from his shock, smiling proudly to himself as the two men finish up their baking before Adelaide Mellark can wander down to the kitchens and scold them.

            After securing the cash from his father’s office, Peeta can’t get his mind off of Christmas shopping. He also can’t keep his mind off the fact that he has no idea what to get Katniss. What does one get the most beautiful girl in the world who doesn’t like accepting things she can’t pay for? It’s a sticky situation, Peeta realizes.

            As he lies in bed later that night, staring up at the ceiling, he decides there is only one person he can trust to help him. Tomorrow he will call on Delly Cartwright, his dearest childhood friend, and, if luck is in his favor, she will be free to escort him on his shopping trip. Certainly Delly, the most thoughtful and sweetest girl in the city, will be able to think of a proper gift.

            As fate would have it, Delly was not busy the next day. She gives a squeak of excitement when Peeta suggests that she should accompany him on his shopping excursion. This is how, two hours later, Peeta finds himself walking down a main street full of tiny shops flanked by towering department stores all decorated spectacularly for the holidays.

            “Look at this one, Peeta,” Delly says breathlessly as she drags him by the elbow towards the window of a toyshop. It’s all fixed up for Christmas, the main attraction being a toy train set running around a Christmas tree that takes up almost the entire window. There are several porcelain dolls and stuffed bears surrounding the bottom of the tree. Tiny tin soldiers also march across a shelf in the corner of the window.

            “Do you remember when your father would bring us here as children and we would just watch the window for hours?” she asks, still gazing through the glass in front of them, a childlike smile on her face.

            Peeta can’t help but smile at the happy memory as well, “I do. And Cora still worked at the house here and she would always have hot chocolate waiting for us when we got home.”

            “And she always said we would catch our deaths from the cold and that your father shouldn’t let us stare at a window out in the cold for that long,” she finishes for Peeta with a light, sparkling laugh.

            Delly Cartwright is, in every way, what a lady should be; refined, charming, kind, and gentle. She can make anyone feel special and, Peeta truly believes, she has never said a mean word about anyone in her life. She is also quite beautiful, finally having lost the last of her baby fat over the last summer.

            Peeta’s mother had mentioned her good looks in passing a few times since he returned from the cottage and he can’t deny that she is lovely. However, he still can’t see her as anything other than a dear friend; almost like a sister. Peeta gets the impression that his mother has other plans however. She’s been slipping in sly comments about how the Cartwright’s money from the meatpacking mill would improve the Mellark’s comfort tremendously.

            Peeta shakes his head at this. He had no intention to marry out of convenience and he thinks Delly would agree with him. It would be too strange to be a husband to her after so many years of acting as a brother.

            They turn from the window and walk silently down the road, enjoying the sounds of happy shoppers and couples flushed with Christmas cheer. Peeta takes a deep breath and decides now would be the time to come clean about why he really asked Delly to accompany him.

            “Delly?” he asks and she hums in response, a sign that he has her attention, “There’s a reason I asked you to join me today.”

            “There is?” she asks curiously, pale blue eyes looking up at him.

            He nods. “I need your help finding a gift for- for,” he hadn’t thought of who he should say the gift was for and quickly decides to lie, “for my cousin.”

            “Oh?” she asks distractedly as she inspects a lovely lavender colored dress in a store window. “Which cousin?”

            “She’s- well, she’s one that you don’t know,” Peeta stumbles through the lie. He’s lucky Delly is preoccupied with the window in front of them or he’s quite sure she would have called his bluff by now.

            “She lives with a spinster great aunt out in the country. Her parents died before I was born, a runaway carriage,” Peeta cringes at the story he has concocted. What a horrid thing to think up.

            “Oh my,” Delly says, a rare, sad look crossing her pretty face, “Well, what does she like? What sort of dresses does she wear?”

            “I don’t know,” Peeta answers without thinking. Delly raises an eyebrow, “That is to say- I mean, she doesn’t have much. Her great aunt doesn’t let her spend money on anything other than the necessities.”

            “What a pity,” Delly muses, a slender finger placed to her chin in thought.

            “I want it to be something special. Something beautiful, like her- but also useful. I can’t imagine she would like silly knick-knacks. She’s such a wonderful person...” Peeta trails off, distracted by his own thoughts.

            “And does this cousin have a name?” Delly asks with a curious glance up at her oldest friend.

            Peeta cringes. She’s figured him out. Well, it took longer than he expected at least.

            “I don’t want to give her away, Delly,” Peeta says honestly. “It’s not exactly like we have a relationship. Actually, it’s not as though she really even likes me.” He gives a sad half-smile.

            Delly gives a sympathetic glance but lets the subject slide. She always has been a wonderful friend, Delly Cartwright. Peeta makes a mental note to be sure to make her a batch of her favorite sugar cookies soon.

            “Well then. What do you get a mystery girl, who normally doesn’t buy frivolous things, that is both useful and beautiful?” Her finger is now tapping against her chin. She snaps her fingers after a moment, “I have an idea. It’ll be perfect. She’ll be able to use it and she’ll love it. Any girl would be crazy not to.”

            Peeta’s not sure that a girl has to be crazy not to like something but he hopes Delly is right as she drags him off in the opposite direction that they had been walking.

            Several hours later, Peeta has not only purchased a gift for Katniss but also one for Prim. His arms are laden with packages as he walks next to a blissful Delly on their way to a waiting coach that will take them both home.

            “It has been such a lovely day,” she muses quietly, almost as if to herself.

            Peeta nods his agreement. Though he’s never been one for shopping, Delly had made the entire process quite painless and undoubtedly saved him hours of mulling over shiny trinkets that he couldn’t choose between. She has most certainly been trained well in the fine details of shopping, which, he supposes, is just as well since she’s the heiress to one of the biggest fortunes in the city.

            “It wasn’t too completely boring for you, was it Peeta?” Delly asks once they’ve handed off all their purchases to the driver and settled themselves into the carriage.

            “It wasn’t,” Peeta affirms, giving her a boyish smile. “You made the entire excursion less painful than a root canal.”

            “Oh you!” she laughs, swatting his arm playfully, “Do you truly think she’ll like the gift, your... cousin?”

            Peeta is thankful that she still doesn’t pry any further for an actually name. Delly has always been the epitome of politeness, which he has never fully appreciated until right now when he has a secret he’d prefer to keep.

            “I think she’ll love it, Delly. Thank you for helping me today,” Peeta says reaching to cover one of her hands with his own. “You really are a great friend.”

            She smiles contentedly, “You’re a wonderful friend yourself, Peeta Mellark. If only our parents would just leave it at that.”

            Peeta laughs at her remark and the scowl she’s now wearing that looks comical on Delly’s naturally happy-looking face.

            “Has your mother been making underhanded comments as well then?” He inquires once he catches his breath.

            She shakes her head unsettling a loose blonde curl from her hairdo, “Not so much underhanded as blatantly telling me to pursue you. Apparently, your mother mentioned your interests during tea one afternoon.”

            “My mother knows nothing of my interests about anything,” Peeta says, rolling his eyes up to the carriage roof.

            Delly smiles again, her pale blue eyes meeting his own after a moment, “I figured as much. Is she very pretty, your cousin?”

            “She’s beautiful and she doesn’t even realize it,” Peeta admits, a glazed look of happiness coming over his face. “Though I suppose she’s not pretty by conventional standards. But I know there are other boys who find her attractive as well.”

            Delly nods appreciatively, “Tell me more about her.”

            And he does. He talks the entire way home until the carriage pulls up outside of the Cartwright residence. He helps Delly down as the driver pulls her packages out to take them inside.

            “Why don’t you want to tell me her name, Peeta?” Delly asks, placing a hand lightly on his cheek so she might tilt his gaze to meet hers. “She sounds like such a wonderful woman. What have you to hide?”

            There’s no use lying to Delly. She would call his bluff in a second now that she’s intrigued by the story. Peeta wagers that she’s proven herself loyal and trustworthy over the years anyway.

            “Mother wouldn’t approve,” he admits sullenly, “She’s not a proper enough lady for Adelaide Mellark’s tastes. Besides, she doesn’t feel the same way about me. There’s no point in dragging her name into this until I am convinced my feelings are reciprocated.”

            Delly nods solemnly. She of all people understands the importance of one’s parents’ approval in such matters as marriage. She gives a sad smile and takes her hand from his cheek only to take his hands in both of hers.

            “Try not to fret too much about it, Peeta. Just be patient. Things have a way of just working out sometimes,” Delly states wisely.

            “Thank you, Delly.” He says, planting a kiss lightly to the back of her hand.

            “You’re so very welcome, Peeta. I’ll see you at the Undersee’s Charity Ball.” She flashes a smile before turning to enter the house. Peeta makes his way back toward the carriage to go home and hide his purchases. He’s already trying to think of the best hiding places in the house. The last thing he needs is for his mother to find the presents and start questioning who they’re for.

            “Oh, and Peeta?” Delly calls from the top step. Peeta turns back to see that the front door has already been thrown open by the butler. “I’ll pray for you too. Just to give fate a little extra push.”

            Peeta smiles, “Thank you, Delly.”

            He doesn’t know how much stock he puts in the Church and a prayer’s ability to fix his situation but he isn’t about to turn down any help, cosmic or otherwise. He’s humble enough to admit, he can use all the help he can get.

 

_Katniss_

 

            “You look tired, Rue,” I observe as we return from lunch at The Hob one day about three weeks after Thanksgiving. Christmas is only a few days off now and work has been as demanding as ever.

            The day is bitterly cold as a wind off the lake rushes between the factories, bringing snow with it. Today is one of those days where I would be happy to stay nestled up in my blankets the entire day and forget the world, but that isn’t an option when I work in a factory where the policy is miss a day and consider yourself fired.

            Rue’s head snaps up to look at me as though she’d already been half asleep. Dark circles under her wide eyes tell me she hasn’t been doing much of that lately.

            “It’s just with the extra work they have us doing,” she replies with a yawn, “there doesn’t seem to be enough hours to sleep.”

            I nod, shooting her a tight-lipped smile of understanding. I feel the same way and I can only imagine what a young girl like Rue must feel like. Children are supposed to get more sleep than adults so they can grow but her hours have been dwindling with the extra hours they’re adding at the factory to keep up with demand over the holidays.

            “Well, things will be back to normal soon enough, right? The holidays are just around the corner and they’ll cut our hours back once it’s all over,” I say, trying to give her a small reassurance. She smiles half- heartedly and nods before we finish the walk in silence, listening to the crunching of our feet through the snow and the whistling of wind through the buildings.

            The afternoon passes uneventfully. The machines have been cranked up to double speed, which leaves all the workers scrambling to keep up and no time for friendly exchanges.

            It’s nearly five o’clock when I hear a piercing scream above all the screeching of the machines. It’s a strange, haunting sound and my body’s reaction is completely visceral at first, an animal instinct that takes over. My muscles freeze and my senses heighten, listening to the piercing sound of suffering. The sound takes a hold in my gut, effectively twisting the breath right out of me. It’s not until a young boy, who works under a machine several isles down, comes running that I realize just where that sound is coming from, or rather who.

            The boy scrambles under the machine, and someone has the sense to shut it down without the foreman’s permission. Mr. Goldbloom is out of his office in an instant shouting horrendous obscenities at the nearest workers but no one seems to take note, everyone is transfixed by the haunting screams coming from below.

            Slowly my mind clicks into gear, like one of the machines starting up for the first time of the day, and I realize who would be working under this machine. Rue. My heart starts beating furiously as though trying to be sure it can keep both me and Rue alive, leaving me breathless.

            It’s only moments before the boy drags her into sight, though it feels like years. Two of the male workers hurry forward to help him drag her free of all the gears, leaving a trail of blood underneath her as they do.

            “Rue!” I call frantically, pushing through the workers before finding myself at her side.

            “Rue, what happened?” I ask, searching her body frantically for the source of the bleeding.

            She moans, trailing off in a tiny whimper that reminds me just how young she is.

            “Her hand was caught in a gear.” The young boy says, eyes wide with terror. “Her fingers are all jammed up in the cogs.”

            I’m sure my face whitens as his words sink in. I certainly feel as though I might be sick at the thought, but I reach for her hand and find that the right one is missing her index and middle fingers. I swallow the bile in my throat and try to think of what mother would do if she were here.

            There is too much blood. It makes me ill, watching it spurting out of the knuckle joints like that and seeping over her wrist.

            A tourniquet. That would help the bleeding. That’s what mother would do.

            “I need a bandage!” I call out to no one in particular.

            “Ain’t got no bandages, miss,” a massive black man named Donald, who works as a mechanic on the machines, tells me from the back of the group.

            I shake my head in anger. How could the factory not be prepared for something like this? After a moment’s thought I lift up the skirt of my dress and tear a strip of fabric from the bottom of my petticoat. Several gasps run through the crowd but can’t be bothered to care about propriety right now. I have only one goal and that is saving Rue.

            She’s already lost a lot of blood judging by the puddle of red oozing underneath her body and the way her skin has paled from it’s usually creamy coffee color. I tie the tourniquet as tightly as my hands can manage but I know it isn’t good enough; I’m not strong enough.

            Donald is appears suddenly on Rue’s other side, taking the ends of the tourniquet and tugging tightly. This seems to do the trick and the bleeding slows significantly.

            “She needs a doctor,” I say, looking to the crowd around us. Everyone stares blankly so I repeat my words, louder this time, “She needs a doctor. Where is the nearest doctor?”

            “Can’t get a nigger a doctor in this part of the city,” I hear Mr. Goldbloom’s furious voice from behind me, “Now either put the girl outside and get back to work, or consider yourselves fired.”

            I feel a fury building inside of me to rival Mr. Goldbloom’s and I stand with my bloodied fists clenched at my side. The words escape my lips before I have a chance to think of their repercussions.

            “You are a horrid man,” I spit, “You would throw a child out to bleed to death on the street?”

            Mr. Goldbloom takes a step towards me and raises is hand, something dark and terrifying flashing in his eyes as he does. Donald steps between us though, ending whatever might have happened.

            “Don’t you go hittin’ a lady now, Mr. Goldbloom, sir,” the larger man’s deep baritone voice orders lowly. He doesn’t shout like Mr. Goldbloom but one would have to be mad to ignore him.

            “We’ll jus’ be takin’ Miss Rue and leavin’ you now,” he says before turning to lift Rue’s tiny body from the factory floor. I follow him toward the door but turn around on last time, unable to contain my anger for another minute.

            “There will be a special seat in Hell made up and waiting for you after today, Mr. Goldbloom,” the words ring clear across the room, seeming to echo amongst the crowd. I spin on my heals to walk out the door after Donald, ignoring the whispers of shock behind me.

            We reach the end of the street quickly enough but then Donald turns to me with a questioning gaze.

            “Where to now, Miss Katniss?” he asks, holding Rue tightly against his chest, trying to protect her from freezing the wind. How the man remembers my name I have no idea. I’m only one of dozens of white young women working in the factory. It’s much more reasonable for me to recall his name since he’s the only black mechanic.

            I look down the road and then back at the quickly paling form in front of me. There’s no way we could make it all the way back to my house in the Seam. She would bleed out by then. My eyes alight on The Hob a moment later, just a few buildings down from us.

            “Here,” I say, heading off in the direction of the warm lights coming from the windows. The door slams open with more force than I intended.

            “What in the name of-“ Mr. Abernathy swears but stops instantly when Donald steps in behind me.

            “Rue was hurt in the factory. She needs help but she’ll never make it all the way to my mother,” I explain quickly.

            Sae has already leapt into action, clearing off one of the long tables that men usually sit at for lunch and ordering a sharp-looking dark haired girl, still dressed in only her shift, to bring down a clean sheet and towels. The girl returns in a moment and the sheet is spread over the worn surface of the table.

            “Set her there then, Donald,” Sae orders.

            “Keep her warm and comfortable,” I say but it comes out more pleading than anything. Sae nods and I continue, already heading for the door of the Hob again, “I’ll fetch mother.”

            With the first crunching step in the snow, I take off running. There aren’t many people walking around at this time of day and this weather, but the few that are stare at me, scandalized by a running lady.

            A lady ought never to run, my mother always said.

            “To hell with it,” I mutter breathlessly, turning down a street and barreling through a happy holiday couple. “To hell with all of it.”

            I’m sick of trying to be a lady. I never was and I never will be if it means the difference between someone living and dying. My mind is blank as I run the rest of the distance, each step like a heartbeat that might be Rue’s last.

            As I turn the last corner, my foot catches on a slick patch of ice, sending my legs flying out from underneath me and my body skidding across the ground, shocking the breath from my lungs. It takes me a moment to gather my senses and assess my limbs, but no permanent damage seems to have been done. Once I catch my breath again, I’m up in an instant to the stares of a dozen or so onlookers, all of whom recognize me as the oldest Everdeen girl. Their gazes are intrigued, wondering, I’m sure, what new family turmoil has occurred.

            I ignore them and the sopping, dirt-stained skirts of my dress as I hurry into the apartment. When I burst through the door, Iris is sitting on the couch looking stunned as she takes in my appearance.

            “Katniss what ‘re ‘ou doing?” she asks, wide eyed.

            “I need mother,” I state hurrying across the room to the closed door.

            “She ‘ees asleep,” Iris calls after me but I don’t have time for that. “Mother!” I shout, grabbing her arms and shaking her roughly. Prim is sitting doing homework in the windowsill when I came in and stares at me as though I’m a ghostly apparition of some sort, completely speechless for once.

            “Mother, you must get up,” I order, giving her another good shake but her eyes are already opening. I grab her medical bag and the special one she uses for her rare cases of surgery, “There’s a girl from the factory. She’s hurt and she’ll die if you don’t help her.”

            This seems to wake my mother up and she moves faster than I’ve seen her do in months as she puts on her dress. Prim helps her silently and in minutes mother is ready to go.

            “Prim, you come along too,” Mother says calmly as we walk out the door and Prim is instantly by her side, having dropped her school work on the ground where she stood, “I might need your help if the repair is difficult.”

            Prim nods, a firm look plastered on her face, but I know her well enough to see the fear in her eyes as she looks down at my bloodied hands. My mother manages to hail a handsome and we pile in.

            The ride back to The Hob is much faster by carriage but I find it much less bearable. My hands fidget uncomfortably in my lap, as there is nothing I can do but wait to arrive. My mother sits next to me like she’s never left us, eyes focused, already planning what procedures she might have to do. I wonder how this calm, in control woman next to me can be the same one who mentally abandoned her daughters for months.

            My mother is the first out of the handsome when we arrive and she’s already inside The Hob by the time I pay off the cabbie. When I walk through the door, she is giving out orders for water to be boiled and releasing the tourniquet to place a neater one above it.

            I help with what I can, fetching supplies and holding Rue’s hand. Mr. Abernathy even managed to do his part, providing large doses of whiskey to the injured girl while they waited for mother to arrive.

            Now lamps are being brought in and Prim is dripping ether slowly over a makeshift mask. My mother has never been trained in surgery, though she has performed several for those who were desperate enough. Rue, I believe, would consider herself in this category. I can’t imagine she would prefer to die from blood loss than to have her hand put back together by an untrained healer.

            I step back, knowing I will only be in mother’s way and Mr. Abernathy shoves a glass of whiskey into my hand wordlessly. I drain the tumbler in one go and cough as the liquid fire burns its way down to my stomach. Now that my job is done, the survival instinct seems to have drained from my body, taking all of my energy with it. I must look a fright because Sae rushes to my side and places a firm hand under my elbow.

            “Here now, dear,” Sae murmurs, helping me to a chair as Mr. Abernathy refills my glass.

            “Keep drinking that,” Mr. Abernathy grunts, “It’ll help bring the color back to your face.”

            I raise a numb, shaking hand to my cheek and rub it over my face with a trembling breath.

            “You’re whiter than a sheet, Sweetheart,” he continues, as though trying to make small talk with me in hopes that it might snap me out of whatever this is. “You just get to the ground before you faint. We don’t need a cracked skull on top of this.” He waves at an unconscious Rue on the table before us.

            As the time passes we settle into a tense silence that is only broken by my mother giving direction to Prim or Sae. Sometime after the sun has long set, the factory whistles blow.

            Mr. Abernathy stands stiffly, flexing his left leg as though his knee is a rusty hinge, before he makes his way out the front door of The Hob. It’s only a few minutes before I realize what he’s doing when I can hear him speaking.

            “We’re closed for supper today,” he calls out over the grumbles of hungry workers come to eat after a long, brutal day’s work in their respective factories. “There has been an unexpected emergency. It couldn’t be helped.”

            This goes one for some time, Mr. Abernathy repeating the same three sentences at intervals as workers trudged by in the snow.

            “That’s the best I can do,” Mother murmurs to Prim and signals for her to remove the ether mask. My mother catches sight of me, moving over to pull a chair next to me.

            “Katniss, dear,” she reaches for my hands but I shrug her off.

            “Will she be okay?” I ask, wrapping my arms around me in hopes that this might help steady my shaking.

            She nods, “I think so. She’s young and strong. She lost a lot of blood, but I believe her body can handle it. We’ll have to wait until she wakes up to be sure though. Are you okay?” She asks, eyeing me with concern.

            “I’m fine. I still have all my fingers, Mother,” I answer, my voice coming out a bit harsher than I had intended. I stand and cross the room to sit next to Rue until she wakes up.

            It seems like forever before she groans and her eyes flutter open. I squeeze her unharmed hand and lean forward so she can see me.

            “Hello, Rue,” I whisper.

            “Katniss?” she asks croakily, a furrow forming in confusion on her forehead. “What happened? Why does my hand hurt?”

            She tries to lift the bandaged hand but I push it down. There’s no need for her to see it yet when she’s still confused from the ether.

            “You were hurt in the factory. Do you remember?” I question softly, brushing a hand over her hair as I do. I wish I could somehow make the reality of everything that has happened in the last few hours go away.

            Rue is lucky to have made it out of that factory with her life. I’ve heard all kinds of stories about children’s hands being cut off or arms being mangled to the point of paralysis. Compared to this, her injury is a miracle; however, society won’t see it that way. They’ll look at her as another poor, pathetic soul with a physical deformity. Not to mention that she’ll never be able to find work in another factory, not that I can imagine she’d be able to work under any machine again. The idea of her doing that is almost too much to handle after what has just happened.

            Her eyes fill with tears, “Is my hand okay, Katniss?” she asks as the memory comes back to her.

            “You still have it, Rue, and it will still work.” It seems like a half- truth but I can’t tell her about the fingers yet, not with all those tears waiting to break free at any moment.

            This proves to be pointless anyway as her tears spill over with her next sentence.

            “You saved my life,” she whispers. “Thank you, Katniss.”

            “Don’t think on it, Rue,” I say, patting her hand, “It was the only thing to do.”

            “How are you feeling, Rue?” my mother asks from over my shoulder, ever the healer.

            “Tired,” the tiny girl responds, “And it hurts.”

            My mother nods, “I’m sure it does. Mr. Abernathy can give you some more whiskey but I don’t have anything else right now to help with the pain. You’ve had a long day, dear, sleep if you want to. Mr. Abernathy says you may stay as long as you need to tonight.”

            Rue nods and her eyes flutter shut instantly. I look to my mother and swallow thickly.

            “Thank you for helping her,” I murmur, eyes lowered to the hem of her skirt, “She would have died if you hadn’t. No doctor would take her.”

            My mother’s hand finds my cheek and raises my gaze to her, “It’s not right to leave someone to die because they have colored skin. Your father-“ She pauses, choking on the words before continuing, “Your father would have been so proud of you. You were very brave- just like he always was.”

            Tears prickle in my eyes and I want to look away but her hand is still holding my cheek. I don’t want to cry in front of her, she’s the weak one not me.

            “You’re so like him, Katniss, it hurts sometimes. But it’s a gift too, to still have such a big part of him...“ she trails off, choked by the tears. She turns away then and walks to the dark corner of the saloon, lost in her own memories.

            The doors swing open just then, admitting Donald’s intimidating form into the saloon followed by a short round-faced woman with skin as dark as chocolate. I hadn’t noticed he was missing, despite his massive form, until now when he’s finally reappeared.

            The woman looks around with wide eyes that match Rue’s exactly and I know this must be her mother. Her eyes land on Rue’s sleeping form and she let’s out a cry, rushing over to gather her daughter in her arms.

            Rue grumbles sleepily, “Mama.”

            “Oh you’re alive. My baby’s alive, thank the Lord Jesus.” She says in a clear, smooth voice, “Ain’t nobody gonna hurt you now, baby. Mama promise you that.”

“I’m okay, Mama,” Rue murmurs, voice still heavy with sleep that’s trying to reclaim her, “Katniss and Donald saved me.”

            The woman looks to Donald and he nods in my direction. Her eyes alight on me and widen in awe, “Ain’t no white girl never been brave enough to help no black girl ‘fore- not that I ever hear of. I thank you, Miss Katniss, and so does Rue’s daddy. We’re, all of us, right thankful to you.”

            “It was the right thing to do. Please, call me Katniss,” I say, holding my hand out to her. It’s still crusted with Rue’s dried blood but I doubt that’s the reason for her hesitation as she eyes me skeptically.

            “I’m Helen Jones.” She says taking my hand lightly in hers and shaking it, “You’re a strange white lady, Katniss, if you’ll excuse me for sayin’ so.”

            I laugh, partly because my nerves are so raw and partly because I couldn’t agree with her more. This seems to break the tension in the room though as Donald laughs with me followed by Helen’s silky laugh.

            “Rue’s told me a lot about you but I din’ believe it ‘til now.” She says with a bright white smile, her teeth contrasting starkly with the rich color of her dark lips.

            “Miss Katniss ain’t like them other white ladies, Mrs. Jones.” Donald says deeply from the foot of the table, “She done told Mr. Goldbloom off and din’ even flinch when he come at her wit his hand raised.”

            Mr. Abernathy gives a sharp laugh from the table he’s been leaning on, nursing a tumbler of whiskey, “Sweetheart, you have more fire in you than brains. That man has to be at least twice your size.”

            “You never would ha’ know it, the way she look at him, Mr. Abernathy.” Donald says with a smile tugging at his mouth, “I think for a minute Mr. Goldbloom done thought he was staring into the face of a lioness. He went real pale-like ‘fore his face got red and he told us we’d be fired for helpin’ po’ Miss Rue.”

            “Oh no, Katniss!” Prim’s voice carries from across the room. I turn and see her blue eyes wide with fear, “You lost your job at the factory.”

            I nod slowly, “Don’t worry, Little Duck, I’ll find work somewhere else.”

            She looks unsure but doesn’t disagree. My mother steps back up to the table, apparently having recovered from our earlier conversation.

            “Mrs. Jones, I’m Ms. Everdeen, I sewed up your daughter’s hand. Might I speak with you alone?”

            Mrs. Jones gives a long look at Rue but seems to decide she’ll keep until her mother can return and follows my mother into the back room of the saloon. They talk for a long while and I think I can hear soft crying for a short time.

            When they return, Mrs. Jones resumes her post beside Rue and my mother takes Prim by the hand.

            “There’s nothing more to do here, Katniss,” my mother says, “She simply needs to rest and take time to heal.”

            I nod, “You two go home. It’s late and Prim has school tomorrow.” “You’re not coming, Katniss?” my little sister asks softly.

            I shake my head, “I need to stay here with Rue. I’ll see you tomorrow after you come home from school.”

            She leans forward and places a kiss on my cheek before following my mother out of the saloon for the long journey home.

            The saloon is silent for a long time after this until footsteps echo on the stairs in the back room.

            The girl from earlier with the dark hair and pointed face walks into the saloon, this time dressed in a lovely, though less-than-modest, rose colored gown.

            “Johanna wants to know if there will be a performance tonight.” She says to Mr. Abernathy, “I told her I would not expect so judging by the bleeding but-“

            “There won’t be, Clove. I’ll still pay you girls, but there won’t be any show until tomorrow night.” Mr. Abernathy says, cutting her off when Mrs. Jones’s face seems to drain of color at the mention of Rue’s blood. The dark haired girl, Clove, nods and scurries out of the room the same way she came.

            “Mrs. Jones, you know Rue won’t be able to work in the factories anymore,” I point out as gently as I can.

            The older woman nods slowly, “I do, dear. I don’ know what we’ll do bu’ we’ll manage just fine I ‘spect. The Good Lord looks out for his own.”

            I’m not so sure about this but I don’t argue with her. It doesn’t seem right to point out that her Good Lord allowed this to happen to Rue in the first place. Let her keep her God and I’ll keep my peace. She needs her small comforts on a night so trying as this.

            Sae steps out from the shadows where I didn’t realize she had been sitting. I thought she had gone home hours ago and I wonder if she lives upstairs with Mr. Abernathy’s other girls. I can’t quite picture her living next door to the girls knowing what they do in those rooms.

            “Mrs. Jones, you don’t have to make a decision tonight of course, but Rue is always welcome to work with me here at the saloon for lunch and supper.” The boney old woman offers, “I can’t pay as much as the factories but I suppose it would be better than nothing if she can’t find any other work.”

            Mrs. Jones smiles, “We thank you, Ms. Sae. You always been right kind to our family since the day we came from Georgia.”

            “She’s a sweet child, Mrs. Jones, and a hard worker. It’s not kindness at all really,” Sae assures her.

            Sometime after that, I settle into a restless sleep filled with dreams of screaming children. I try to reach them but can’t make it through the machines in time before I’m shredded to pieces. In one particular dream, Mrs. Mellark is ordering Mr. Goldbloom to throw workers over the railings of stairs that lead the foreman’s office, dropping them carelessly to the floor below.

            I jolt awake in a cold sweat after he throws Prim to her death. Watery, grey light is filtering in through the dusty saloon windows and I decide there’s no use trying to sleep any longer. Sae is already awake and at her stove in the corner scrambling up eggs, something I haven’t eaten in ages, being so expensive to buy.

            “How could you afford them?” I ask, nodding to the pan of yellow, semi solid liquid as I take a seat at the counter.

            “Mr. Abernathy paid for them. He said that the little girl needed good food before she got on her feet again to travel home,” Sae says with a crooked smile. “Got her some bread from the baker’s too. Still warm it’s so fresh from the oven,” She adds nodding at a wrapped bundle on the counter.

            I pull it towards me and can immediately feel the warmth coming from it, “I’ll slice it up if you hand me a knife.”

            A boney hand produces a serrated knife from thin air and I begin working, appreciating the crunch of the crusty bread as I saw gently through it. When I finish, I look up to see Sae staring at me, eggs already scooped into five bowls.

            “You did right by that little girl, child,” she says with an appraising look, “Not many would have done what you did.”

            I shrug, unsure of how to explain myself. Everyone was so thankful last night but they don’t realize I did the only thing I could. To do anything else would have been reprehensible.

            “I did what anyone else should have,” I murmur setting slices of bread on top of each bowl.

            “But not many would have,” Sae repeats for emphasis as I slide from my seat and take two bowls to give to Mrs. Jones and Rue who are, by now, awake and murmuring softly amongst themselves.

            It’s just before the factories’ break for lunch when Rue slowly gets to her feet with the help of Donald and her mother. I offer to accompany them but am turned down stating that it’s too far out of my way and I’ve already done so much. I don’t push the subject since little Rue already looks tired and has barely made it out the door of the saloon.

            When I arrive home, I fill up the washtub and scrub furiously at the blood that has embedded itself in the cracks of my skin. By the time I’m satisfied, my skin is raw and pink but I don’t mind the slight sting of it. It reminds me that Rue is still alive; that we saved her.

            I dress in my second, clean shift and fill the washtub with water again, grabbing the scrubbing board so I can start working the stains out of the fabric of my dress. It’s tedious work, but eventually the dried stains are removed and I work on Prim’s and my mother’s dresses.

            By the time I’m dumping the dirty water out, Prim has arrived home from school, looking a bit weary but otherwise well. I notice she’s carrying another familiar white paper bag and frown.

            “Prim, please don’t tell me-“

            “I haven’t been speaking with him, Katniss,” she cuts me off tiredly, already knowing exactly what I was going to say as she holds the heavy bag out to me.

            “He stopped me on my way out of school to take this along to you. He said he hoped we have a Merry Christmas.”

            I realize, as I take the bag, that today was the last day of school. The next several weeks she will be on Christmas holiday. I open the bag and cry out in surprise. I haven’t seen a cake like this since I was very little and Papa had brought home fruit for mother to bake with. Despite my apprehension about Peeta Mellark sending Prim home with gifts, I can’t help but be excited and a smile moves to my lips of its own accord.

            “Do you even know what this is, Prim?” I ask and she shakes her head, my smile proving contagious as she tries to conceal her excitement.

            “It’s fruitcake,” I say pulling the heavy cake out and bringing it to the kitchen to find a knife before adding, “And a good one at that.”

            I cut three slices and hand one to her before taking one myself. The third will be mothers when she arrives home from treating whatever new patient she’s seeing.

            We both bite into the moist bread and I give a poorly concealed groan at the sweet, nutty treat. It tastes just as I remember it did the one Christmas mother made it. Prim giggles and we each chew happily on our slices until they’re gone. I smile at Prim but her happiness fades to a much more somber look in an instant.

            “We’ll not be having much of a Christmas this year, will we, Katniss?” she asks, wide blue eyes so serious for one so young.

            A pang of guilt runs through my chest as I nod, “There’s no money for it, Prim. Especially now that I don’t have any work. I’ll start looking for another job tomorrow, but I’m not sure we’ll have enough money for gifts even if I do find one.”

            She nods, “I could quit school too, Katniss. I could-“

            “No,” I cut her off firmly, “You’ll stay in school, Little Duck. We’ll manage. Don’t you worry about that.”

            She shoots me a skeptical look but doesn’t argue as our mother walks through the door and we present her with the special treat from that strange boy, Peeta Mellark.

 

...

 

            Over the next several days leading up to Christmas, I search in every factory for work. I look healthier now than I did when I was searching last time however this doesn’t seem to help my case as foreman after foreman turn me away.

            Finally, on the third day of my search, a foreman unknowingly explains why I can’t find any work anywhere in the city.

            “We don’t hire any nigger lovers in this factory!” he spits at me when I demand to know why he will not hire me when it’s clear his factory is understaffed for the holidays.

            I make my way to the Hob after that, figuring it’s just about useless to continue searching when I’ve apparently been condemned for helping Rue. When I walk in, I’m surprised to see several girls sitting around the saloon eating what looks to be breakfast, even at such a late hour between the lunch and supper rush. I spot Johanna and Clove amongst them and know that these must be Mr. Abernathy’s girls.

            I sit down at the counter where Sae is cooking up supper and tell her about my day, my despair growing with each word. I don’t know how we’ll manage if I don’t find work somewhere. There’s a small amount of money saved and mother seems to finally have won the battle against her heartbreak since she now works everyday without fail, but that’s still not enough for us to last more than a few months at best.

            “I heard about the little show you gave,” Johanna says sharply as she sidles up next to me and takes a seat. I had been speaking quietly with Sae in hopes that our conversation would go unheard by the other girls but apparently Johanna has other plans.

            “The foreman Clove entertained the other night said Mrs. Mellark caught wind of the story and wanted to make an example of you. Apparently some of the workers were disgruntled about the way it was handled. There were apparently rumors that the workers wanted to strike.” Johanna raises an eyebrow at me with a smirk. “She made sure your name was on the blacklist for every factory in the city. Can’t have workers getting any ideas, can we?”

            “That’s enough, Johanna,” Sae reprimands with a sharp eye.

            “I’m just telling the girl what she needs to hear.” Johanna shrugs with a roll of her eyes, “She might as well not bother wasting her time finding work inside the city, not in the factories anyway.”

            Sae gives me an apologetic look before going back to her work but I’m honestly thankful that Johanna further explained why every factory seemed to know that I had helped Rue. And she’s right, there isn’t any use in looking for factory work anymore. I haven’t been working at the textile mill very long but it’s been long enough for me to hear the horror stories about the blacklist. I know without a doubt that there will never be any available work in the factories, at least not for Katniss Everdeen.

            I walk home slowly, knowing that once I get there Prim will ask if I’ve found a job, and I’ll have to disappoint her. I have no idea what I’m going to do now. The hopelessness washes over me. Just when things were beginning to settle again for the first time after father’s death, the floor has been ripped out from under me.

 

...

 

            Christmas morning is a quiet affair in the apartment this year. We wake up late and have a meager breakfast of porridge since there’s little else we can afford as we struggle to survive on mother’s salary. Prim and I spend the afternoon playing games of tiddlywinks with the set father bought her for her birthday two years ago.

            Mother watches from her seat on the couch with a melancholy air about her. Though no one mentions it, we all miss father dearly today. I know he would have found a way to make the day more special.

            Once the sun has set, Prim asks me to sing Christmas carols, as is our tradition after dinner. I oblige her, though I’m not really in the mood to this year, and her smile makes it worthwhile. She joins in after a while and Iris and Daniel settle into the living room with us to listen.

            Just before bedtime, Daniel pulls out a small paper bag filled with enough chestnuts for each of us. Prim grins happily at the treat and we toast them over the stovetop before retiring for the night.

            “Katniss?” Prim whispers after our mother’s even breathing lets us know she’s asleep.

            “Yes, Prim?”

            “Merry Christmas,” she says sweetly.

            I smile as a happy warmth fills my chest, “Merry Christmas, Prim.”

 

 ...

 

            The sun is just rising the morning after Christmas when a firm knock comes from the front door. I take the porridge that I was cooking off the stove and wipe my hands before answering it.

            When a tiny boy with dark hair and Seam eyes looks up at me, I immediately assume there’s a sick patient in need of mother. I’m just about to turn to go fetch her when the boy sticks out his hand with a small piece of paper in it.

            “Delivery for you, miss,” he says in a squeaky voice.

            I frown, “I’m not expecting a delivery.”

            “You are Miss Katniss Everdeen?” His voice makes me think that, if mice could speak, they would sound a lot like him.

            I nod and he waves the paper towards me again.  
            “Delivery for Miss Katniss Everdeen.”

            I narrow my eyes but take the slip of paper and unfold it. On it is a hastily written message in an unfamiliar hand.

 

Dear Miss Everdeen,

            I ask that you forgive the tardiness of these gifts, as I had foolishly not thought about how I might get them to you since I do not have the address of your residence. However, my friend, Carl, whom you have met by now, has assured me he will see these packages safely to you.

            I hope you have had a most merry Christmas and will have a happy New Year as well.

            Most Sincerely Yours,

            Peeta Mellark

 

            My frown deepens, “Mr. Mellark sent you?”

            “Yes, miss,” the boy squeaks happily at the mention of Peeta’s name, “He’s very kind, Mr. Mellark. Bought up all my papers and promised to pay me double just so I would find you and deliver these!”

            The boy pulls two packages from his satchel and pushes them into my hands. Neither is very heavy and they are both wrapped inconspicuously in brown paper. The smaller of the two has my name written across it in loopy script and the larger has Prim’s.

            “Well, I need you to take these back to Mr. Mellark and tell him we can’t accept them,” I say moving to place the packages back in the boy’s arms but he steps away and puts his hands up.

            “Oh no, miss,” he says shaking his head, eyes widening with worry, “Mr. Mellark said I had to be sure you kept them. He said he’d pay me an extra dollar if I did.”

            I scowl. Leave it to Peeta Mellark to bribe a child into forcing my hand. I can’t very well send this boy, Carl, back to Peeta with the packages knowing his family would probably benefit immensely from the extra money.

            I give and exasperated sigh but nod, “Very well, but you’ll take a letter back with you for me?”

            “Of course, miss!” Carl says straightening up, as though to prove he’s up to the task.

            I smile before hurrying to find a piece of paper and a pencil. Peeta’s note had been written in fine ink but we have none of that here and I suppose he wouldn’t expect such.

 

Mr. Mellark,

            Though I am grateful for your generosity once again, I must ask that you cease your charity at once. I am most certain that my family cannot afford to repay you for your kindnesses.

            I would also dare to say that I find it quite disagreeable that you have chosen to manipulate my acceptance of these gifts by using a poor child as nothing more than a pawn in your schemes. It is on this note that I leave you to contemplate your morals, Mr. Mellark.

            Sincerely,

            Katniss Everdeen

 

            I fold the paper over and hand it to Carl before I can regret my rather harsh words. If he will not listen to my polite requests, perhaps this will get through to him. Taking the letter, Carl hurries off back to Peeta and his awaiting fortune, leaving me with two packages and no idea what I should do with them.

            Prim makes that decision for me however when she enters the living room and sees the brown paper packages sitting on the counter as I stare moodily at them.

            “Katniss, what are these?” Her eyes light up when she spies her name on one.

            I sigh, “Christmas gifts from Mr. Mellark, I suppose.”

            She looks at me curiously, hands already reaching for the paper. “Go on then, open them up. He’s not going to let me give them back anyway. Stubborn fool that he is,” I mutter. She smiles brightly and begins carefully opening the wrappings.

            “You’re one to talk,” she chuckles before letting out an audible gasp.

            I look over the wrappings, intrigued by her wonderment and realize immediately why. Folded neatly inside the package is enough sky blue fabric to make a new gown. It’s a fine material as well, silky and light- much nicer than anything we could afford. Prim’s hands brush over the fabric to land on a length of beautiful lace, something we could never afford but that Prim pines for dearly I know.

            “Oh, Katniss,” she whispers, eyes widened in shock over the beauty of it. “Katniss, do you see now how kind he is?”

            I don’t respond. It doesn’t sit well with me that Peeta Mellark insists on doting on our family. I keep waiting for him to reveal his real motives.

            Prim doesn’t seem to mind my silence instead turning to look at me after a moment, “You’ll open yours too won’t you?”

            Begrudgingly, I tear open the wrappings, not at all as gentle as Prim had been. Inside is a small black box as big as the palm of my hand. I open the lid and stare, completely shocked, at the beauty of the thing in front of me.

            Prim moves to look over my shoulder and squeals, “It’s so lovely!”

            And she’s right. I’ve never owned anything so beautiful in my life. It seems wrong for me to have it.

            Sitting on a soft velvet cushion is a hair comb made of fine, white ivory. It’s been carved into an intricate blossom of some sort with tiny rhinestones embedded just above the teeth that would fix into my hair.

            “It’s a lotus blossom,” Prim informs me knowledgeably, “I’ve seen pictures of them in books about the orient. It’s a very special flower there.”

            I don’t know what to say as I stare down at the small object that seems to mock my poverty. I shut the box with a snap and place it back on the counter, angry at the tears that fill my eyes.

            Prim notices my mood immediately and frowns, “Katniss, what ever is the matter?”

            “It’s nothing, Prim,” I snap shortly, “You may keep your gift, but I’m sending this back to Peeta tomorrow.”

            She crosses her arms and her frown deepens, “Why would you do that? It’s positively lovely! I’m sure he went through a lot of trouble to find it as well. Lotus blossoms are very popular for hair decorations this season.”

            “That’s just it, Prim,” I mutter, several tears escaping my eyes, much to my dismay, “I don’t wear what is in season, I wear the same dresses I always have. I have no use for a gift like this. It’s too lovely-“

            “Oh, Katniss, stop it,” Prim reprimands, coming to my side and taking my face in her hands. “You are lovely and you will have use for it. You’ll see. The next time there is a wedding we’ll get all dressed up in our finest clothes and you’ll be happy you have such a lovely hair comb.”

            I don’t say anything, too stunned by my sister’s firm declarations to argue. When did she grow up so much? How did I miss it? Was it when I was away working in the factory?

            She smiles and wipes the tear stains from my cheeks, “Here, I’ll show you. Sit down and I’ll do your hair.”

            I let my baby sister guide me to sit on the floor and I cross my legs like a child waiting for her mother to tell her a story. Prim undoes my simple braid quickly before starting a much more intricate design like a real lady wears. She has quick and nimble hands as she winds pieces of hair back in impossibly dizzying patterns. It’s hard for me to imagine how girls do this everyday.

            She reaches beside her to grab the hair comb and fixes it in my hair with a happy clap, “Finished.”

            She scurries to the kitchen and pulls out our shiniest pan to show me my reflection. Standing on her tiptoes, she places her chin on my shoulder so her face is reflected next to mine.

            “You’re beautiful, Katniss,” she murmurs with a content smile that I find contagious as it pulls at the corners of my mouth.

            I shake my head, “That’s enough playing around,” I say but my voice is softer than before. The reflection had, quite honestly, shocked me. I move to take a hairpin out but Prim slaps my hand away.

            “It’s too pretty to just waste. Leave it in for the day,” she orders firmly and so I do to please her.

            Mother wakes and smiles fondly when she sees the gifts Peeta sent. Something flashes across her face when Prim mentions they’re from Mr. Mellark but it’s there and gone so fast I can’t tell what it is. She spends the morning sewing until little Josie Munger’s mother comes knocking in a panic because she thinks her daughter has the Seam fever.

            Prim and I amuse ourselves, with the sewing while she’s gone and sometime in the afternoon another knock comes at the door.

            “Gale!” Prim says excitedly when he walks through the door, “Merry Christmas!”

            He smiles fondly at her and ruffles her hair a bit, “Merry Christmas, Prim.”

            “Hello, Rory,” Prim says shyly to a younger replica of Gale. He smiles and says his hellos as well before asking her how her Christmas was.

            Gale’s eyes find me and widen momentarily, reminding me how ridiculous I must look with my hair all done up.

            “Merry Christmas, Catnip,” he says, joining me on the couch as I continue, somewhat haphazardly, with the mending. I never have had a good hand for stitching.

            “Merry Christmas, Gale,” I reply, looking up with a smile to catch him staring at me with a strange look. “What is it?”

            “Nothing,” he says too quickly, “It’s nothing. It’s just- you look really pretty today.”

            I look at him for a moment before bursting out in laughter. The way he said it, he sounded like he was utterly shocked to see me in such a pretty state. I couldn’t agree with him more.

            He smiles, knowing I’ve caught on to his surprise, “I’m just used to seeing you- just plain you. Not all of this.” He waves a hand at my hair. “Prim insisted I let her do it,” I admit, “And she didn’t want me to take it down after all her hard work.”

            “She looks beautiful doesn’t she, Gale?” Prim smiles as she and

            Rory settle themselves on the floor in front of us.  
            “She does,” Gale agrees with a mischievous smile. “You’ve worked a miracle, Prim.” He laughs deeply and I swat his arm, which only leads to more laughter.

            “Where did you get the hair trinket?” he questions, noting the foreign object in its place of honor.

            “Peeta Mellark, from school, sent it,” Prim answers offhandedly, not realizing that it would cause a stir.

            Gale’s mood sobers up palpably at the mention of Peeta. A scowl replaces his smile and for the rest of the visit he’s a bit cool with me. When the time comes to leave, I walk Gale to the door and he pulls me into the hallway, so Prim and Rory can’t hear our exchange.

            “You just be careful mixing with Peeta Mellark, Katniss,” he says, practically spitting Peeta’s name.

            I frown, “I’m not mixing with Peeta Mellark. I’ve already told Prim to be careful, Gale. These gifts couldn’t be helped but I’ve made sure there will be no more.”

            “It’s not Prim I’m worried about, it’s you,” he says seriously, placing a hand protectively on my arm.

            “What do you mean? Why would you be worried about me?”

            He gives a sharp laugh that doesn’t make it to his eyes, “You really are clueless, aren’t you?”

            I’m not sure what he means by calling me clueless but I know Gale well enough to know he doesn’t say it to intentionally hurt me. However, it still itches me the wrong way that he’s laughing at me and I don’t appreciate his poking fun at my expense. I give a stiff nod before bidding him and Rory farewell and returning inside with Prim.

 

_Peeta_

 

            Peeta is in his suite when James, the butler, enters, announcing that Carl has returned. The young boy walks proudly into the room, swinging his hands at his sides, as though to advertise they are empty and he has succeeded in his mission.

            Peeta rises and smiles broadly at the boy. He was lucky he’d come across young Carl again on the same street corner. He had left the Mellark Mansion frantically earlier that morning realizing, much to his dismay, he had no idea how he might deliver his Christmas gifts to the Everdeen sisters.

            He had initially intended to send them through the post since it would be the simplest way of ensuring Katniss would accept them. He knew she could never afford the postage to return them. However, he realized several days ago that he had no address for the Everdeens and no way of figuring it out without going door to door through the entire Seam.

            He had cursed his folly and brooded over it all through Christmas Eve and Christmas morning. It wasn’t until the early hours the morning after Christmas, long before the sun had ever risen, that he had thought of an idea.

            Somehow, the young boy, Carl’s, face had floated into his mind and with it came hope. He had jumped from under the covers of his bed and run out to the street corner where he had first met the boy. There he had waited for nearly an hour before Carl ambled sleepily up toward the street corner from the direction of the Seam.

            Peeta had surprised the tired boy, who made to run when he realized there was a man approaching him in the darkness.

            “Carl, it’s just me, Mr. Mellark,” Peeta had called out and the boy had stopped, remembering the familiar voice of the generous wealthy man.

            “Sir?” he had questioned cautiously.

            Peeta had explained his predicament, mentioning Miss Everdeen and how he didn’t know her address but thought maybe Carl might, having grown up in the Seam.

            “I know of a Ms. Everdeen, Mr. Mellark,” Carl had told him, “She’s a healer. I think she has two daughters like you say.”

            Peeta had given a cry of joy that caused the younger boy to jump in surprise.

            “I apologize, Carl,” Peeta had said, placing a hand firmly on the boy’s shoulder to ensure he wouldn’t run away now that Peeta had found hope, “I need a favor of you.”

            Peeta had explained the task, promising to purchase all of the newspapers Carl needed to sell and to pay him double after the packages had been delivered. Carl had eagerly agreed as Peeta quickly wrote a note to Katniss, struggling for a moment to decide how he should sign it and settling for ‘most sincerely yours’ in hopes that she might divine his true feelings but not be frightened off by them.

            Now, here he was, the little man who had saved Peeta’s dreams, standing before him, a mission well accomplished.

            “You’ve done it then, Carl?” Peeta asks and the boy puffs out his chest proudly.

            “I have, Mr. Mellark, sir,” he says before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a letter, “From Miss Everdeen. She didn’t seem too happy to take the packages but she did.”

            Peeta tucks the letter in his pocket to read once he is alone, his heart thumping loudly as he does, as though it wants to reach out and take the letter to read for itself.

            “I owe you a great debt then, Carl,” Peeta says, walking over to a desk where he keeps his extra pocket money locked up. He counts out the full amount that he promised the boy and adds an extra fifty cents.

            Carl counts it out carefully and looks up at Peeta with an astounded look, “Sir, there’s fifty cents more than you promised here.”

            Peeta nods, “I think I owe you that. You did after all deliver me a letter from Miss Everdeen and that was not accounted for in our deal.”

            The boy grins broadly at Peeta and it causes a warm glow to flood through Peeta’s veins. He’s such a sweet boy, and honest, which can be hard to come by.

            “She is very pretty, Mr. Mellark,” the boy says, a blush rising to his cheeks.

            Peeta smiles; he knows the effect Katniss can have on a boy all too well.

            “That she is, Carl. If there’s nothing else, James will show you out. You go home and enjoy the day with your family.”

            The boy nods fervently as he follows the stately butler back the way he came. Peeta immediately reaches for the letter in his pocket and reads it quickly. He frowns and reads it again more slowly.

            He almost wants to laugh at Katniss’s words if it weren’t for her calling him disagreeable. He hadn’t meant to manipulate her and regrets that she sees it that way. It seems he just can’t ever get it completely right with Katniss Everdeen.

            He looks at the way she wrote her name, a firm hand and not nearly as graceful as the ladies of the upper class were taught, but it was hers and it was beautiful all the same. He tucks the letter safely away in his desk where he keeps all his most treasured possessions for safekeeping, knowing that tonight he would pull it out and gaze upon her writing until sleep took him. 


	5. Chapter 5

_Peeta_

 

            “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Glenn says as he enters unannounced into Peeta’s suite.  Luckily, the youngest Mellark is already dressed and just pulling on the new, white gloves his mother insisted on buying for the event so he looked “like a proper gentleman.”

            Peeta’s eldest brother sticks out the most among the three Mellark children, at least in terms of appearance, though he is still undeniably related. Glenn stands nearly a head taller than his younger brothers and lacks the same wide shoulders that they inherited from their father. Instead, he is built narrow and long. His blond hair doesn’t curl like Peeta’s, and he wears it combed back perfectly flat against his head. His eyes, though still blue, are so pale it’s as though someone drained the color from them when he was born.

            Peeta throws his brother a sidelong glance as he straightens his bow tie one last time before turning to go downstairs where his mother is surely waiting, tapping her foot impatiently, to inspect her sons.

            “Did you need something, Glenn?” Peeta questions. He knows his oldest brother only speaks to him when there is a real purpose for it.

            Glenn shrugs and looks around at the walls of the suite before answering, “I overheard Mother just now speaking with Father.”

            Peeta raises his eyebrow in question, urging Glenn to continue.

            “She might have mentioned something about a girl that will be at the ball and how she’s hoping to have two engagements on her hands by this time next year.”

            Glenn’s tone suggests he might be chatting about the weather, not future nuptial plans. This detachment is not unusual for Peeta’s eldest brother however. Since they were just children, Glenn has always been the least emotional brother, the one who looks objectively at any problem and doesn’t concern himself with messy feelings.

            “What… my engagement?” Peeta asks, astounded by the idea. He’ll only be nineteen by this time next year and he’s hardly even spoken to the only girl he’s ever honestly thought about wedding.

            Glenn shrugs again, nonchalantly, “I don’t really know, Peet. She didn’t say for sure, but she knows that I’ve been courting Rose for the last few months and that I am only weeks away from proposing. And we all know Axel is still too wild to settle down.”

            “Why are you telling me this?” Peeta’s eyes narrow in suspicion. In his experience, Glenn has never been one to help out anyone but himself, unless helping someone else benefits him in some way. It’s part of the reason he and Peeta aren’t very close.

            “I just thought you should know,” his brother says, turning his gaze to meet Peeta’s for the first time, “I know I would hate it if Mother underhandedly forced me into some marriage I didn’t want.”

            Peeta stares at Glenn for a moment. Perhaps Peeta wasn’t the only one that his mother still tried to bully now that he was grown. Glenn had unexpectedly decided to go to university after he finished his schooling four years ago. Peeta hadn’t thought much of it then, being so young, but now he realizes that Glenn had probably been only days away from proposing to Eliza Hesburg, a girl Peeta’s mother had pushed on him since she was first introduced to society.

            She had been the most sought after heiress in the city, her father having amassed a large fortune in only a few years. When she had turned sixteen, Glenn had started courting her, though he was nineteen at the time. It was nearly six months after Glenn had started calling on Eliza Hesburg when he announced he would be moving to Northwestern University to study finances, shocking everyone and giving many a wealthy woman something to talk about over tea. He had quietly broken things off with Eliza and left within a month of his announcement.

            It was only a few weeks after that that Eliza was seen on the arm of a businessman nearly twice her fragile age. Two months later, the newspapers and afternoon tea gatherings had been rife with scandal once again when Mr. Hesburg had reportedly admitted his daughter to the asylum. The Hesburgs had left the city soon after and Peeta hasn’t heard a word about them since.

            Peeta watches his brother with new eyes and Glenn seems to note the difference, brushing nervously at an invisible piece of lint on his waistcoat.

            “Mother tried to force you to marry Eliza Hesburg, didn’t she? That’s why you went to university- to have an excuse to leave,” Peeta says softly, his voice slightly breathless from the shocking revelation.

            “Mother and I had a difference of opinions,” Glenn replies in his typical fashion, as clinical and unbiased answer as ever.

            Peeta waits patiently for his brother’s pale eyes to meet his own, which they do several minutes later and he can see something in Glenn break.

            “She told me that it didn’t matter whether I loved Eliza or not. Her money was not to be trifled with, and I should marry her at once before she had the chance to back out,” Glenn explains flatly. He fiddles with a button on his coat before continuing.

            “I didn’t love her. She was nice enough,“ Glenn sighs and fidgets before continuing with a passion Peeta has never seen from him, “but she was so simple! Her mother had never encouraged her to read. It was like trying to talk to a wall. She would just agree with anything I said. Anything at all, Peet, even if it was obviously untrue! If I said the sky was green, she would agree! And I knew she didn’t love me. I knew she was in love with the foreman at her father’s factory. I heard rumors that she would sneak out to meet him at night but I always pretended to be ignorant.

            “But mother started pushing me so hard to propose and- and I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t picture myself with someone so dull and unlearned for the rest of my life.

            “So I let her go. I decided to move to university and that set her free from me. Mother was furious. She tried to take a rolling pin to my head and I probably deserved it. I didn’t realize what I had done to the poor girl’s situation. I didn’t realize that Mr. Hesburg was just as awful as mother. I didn’t know he would try to force Eliza into marrying that other man when he was so much older than her, but her father was so furious with her that he would marry her off to anyone with a decent pedigree.”

            Glenn trails off for a moment before looking Peeta in the eyes again, “I messed up, Peet. She fought her father over the marriage to that disgusting man and he threw her in an asylum for it. I regret what I did to poor Eliza everyday. I let Mother take things too far and I don’t want you to make the same mistake. Just be careful with how you handle whichever girl has caught Mother’s fancy tonight, okay?”

            Peeta nods, at a loss for words for once. He had never thought of Glenn as capable of regret or mistakes. His oldest brother had always been the golden boy, the one who did everything right on the first try, who always made good grades and the right decisions. Peeta realizes now that he’s misjudged his brother in so many ways.

            Glenn doesn’t wait for anything further from Peeta, leaving the room as though nothing has changed, back to his same old clinical self.

 

…

 

            “Peeta, dear,” his mother’s sickeningly sweet voice calls to him. He’s out on the veranda of the Undersee’s mansion currently, looking out at the sweeping lawn and trying to avoid the idle chatter of the city’s most elite. His mother has spotted him, however, despite his best attempt at staying hidden. He straightens up from the railing and steps back inside with his signature smile.

            “Peeta, dear,” his mother repeats, giving him a syrupy smile, “this is Miss Glimmer Hamilton. Her father is Mr. Benjamin Hamilton, you know the one. He owns the factory that makes all those lovely lady’s hats.”

            “A pleasure to meet you,” Peeta says, turning to give a polite bow to the girl standing beside his mother.

            She’s pretty enough, Peeta thinks. She has smooth pale skin emphasized by her high brow. Her pretty blonde locks are pulled back into an intricate hairdo that puts many of the other girls attending the Charity Ball to shame. Her lips are full and red but the way she smiles makes her look haughty. Add her perfectly upturned nose to the mix, and she has the look of an heiress born and bred.

            “I am charmed to make your acquaintance, Mr. Mellark. Your mother has told me so much about you,” Glimmer informs him with an airy voice, her eyes scanning up and down Peeta as she does. Something about the way she looks at him makes him uncomfortable, as though she’s calculating everything about him, appraising each fault and imperfection for some weakness she can exploit. It shouldn’t be too hard for her to find one; his mother certainly has no trouble finding them.

            “Miss Hamilton has just returned from finishing school in Paris. This is her first soiree after arriving home,” Mrs. Mellark chirps joyously, shooting a look a Peeta indicating that he should take advantage of this fact.

            Peeta refrains from rolling his eyes at his mother, instead turning to Glimmer and offering a hand. “Well, that is reason to celebrate then. Would you give me the honor of a dance, Miss Hamilton?”

            “Of course, Mr. Mellark,” she simpers before placing her kidskin-gloved hand in his.

            Mrs. Mellark gives a subtle nod of approval as Peeta glances her way before walking with Miss Hamilton onto the dance floor.

            She floats gracefully with him through the waltz that is playing but there is something so lacking about the entire ordeal. Peeta thinks of what Glenn told him, about Eliza being too simple for his tastes, and he thinks he might feel the same about Glimmer, though he has only just met her.

            She seems so flat, so dull, when he compares her in his mind to Katniss. She is stunningly beautiful by every standard society has set and Peeta appreciates that but he thinks it would grow tiresome after a while. Conversely, Peeta doubts Katniss could ever grow boring, as she has already proven her reactions to be quite unpredictable. Katniss, whose dark looks lead to a mysterious air. Katniss, who isn’t afraid to scowl or reprimand him. His Katniss- or he wishes she were his anyway.

            It’s not until Peeta is brought face to face with a truly ladylike girl, who laughs at all the proper moments and fills every silence with amiable chatter, that he realizes how much he appreciates Katniss’s faults.

            He sighs softly to himself. It is going to be a long night.

 

…

 

_Katniss_

 

            One afternoon several weeks after the New Year, I find myself knocking on the worn, wooden door of the Hawthorne residence.

            “Hello, Katniss, dear,” Hazelle greets warmly when she answers, ushering me into their small living room to sit.

            “Won’t you have some tea?” She questions, already setting out two chipped teacups before fetching the kettle from the stove.

            “Thank you,” I say with a smile.

            “I suppose you’re here about the mending,” she says, settling herself next to me with a kind smile.

            Hazelle Hawthorne is one of the kindest women I have ever met. She also works impossibly hard to keep her family in food and clothing. Gale’s salary alone isn’t enough to provide for the five of them.

            Hazelle, motherly woman that she is, noticed Prim’s thinning figure and proposed that she ask around among her customers and see if there wasn’t mending they would pay to have done. I had readily agreed to the idea since I still haven’t managed to find any other work that would pay better. Our cupboards have become increasingly bare during my search for employment and our rent needs to be paid in a week.

            “Old Ms. Gerber said she would send some clothes along for you to work on. She’s taken in an orphan boy, you know?” She chuckles softly, “She’s gotten lonesome now that Mr. Gerber passed and that little boy is a rascal. He keeps her young, I’m sure. He’s put holes in half of his clothes and he’s only been living with her for a month!”

            “She probably didn’t know what she was getting into.” A smile tugs at the corners of my lips, imagining the old woman’s reaction to such a rambunctious youngster.

            Ms. Gerber is a well-to-do middle class woman who has a kind temperament. Mr. Gerber, her husband and an honest butcher at the edge of the Seam, had passed away a little over six months ago, leaving his wife a widow with no children to speak of. She had holed herself up in her empty house until one of her church group friends had suggested she take in an orphan for companionship.

            “I think you might be right, Katniss,” she chuckles in agreement, sipping at the sweet herbal tea.

            Gale walks through the door just as we finish our tea and he presses a kiss to Hazelle’s hair as he passes by on his way to change out of his work clothes. I stand and help Hazelle clear away the tea. She turns to me with a gentle smile and pulls me into her arms.

            “You are doing your best, Katniss. I know this work isn’t ideal-“

            “It is wonderful, Hazelle, more than I could hope for,” I assure her, “I am forever in your debt for helping me with this.”

            “Nonsense, Katniss. Our families will always look out for one another.” She pats my cheek softly, “I will send Vick over with the mending after school tomorrow.”

            Gale enters the room again just as Hazelle returns to her washroom in the back of the apartment, almost as if she planned it so that we could be alone together. I’m thankful, whether it’s intentional or not. I truly miss seeing Gale everyday since we both left school.

            “Hello, Catnip,” he calls tiredly.

            “Gale, how have you-“ My smile falters and the words die on my lips when I notice the aged bruise on his cheek and his slight limp as he walks toward me.

            “Gale, what happened to you?” I reach up and brush my fingers over the bruise, “Did this happen at the factory?”

            “No, Catnip, it didn’t happen at the factory,” he mumbles with a halfhearted smile, “I’m fine so don’t worry that head of yours about it.”

            “You are not fine, Gale. How did this happen if it didn’t happen at work?”

            He wrings his hand like a boy who knows he’s about to admit something that will get him punished.

            “I was prizefighting. The little Irish bastard had a mean punch and caught me off guard.”

            “Prizefighting!” I practically screech, “Prizefighting? Gale, have you gone mad? Why would you do such a thing?”

            “I had to make ends meet somehow, Katniss,” he defends, his voice rising in frustration, “I don’t do it every night, only enough to cover the bills that my wages can’t pay! The factory cut our pay and the price of food hasn’t gone down, if you haven’t noticed.”

            “So you resort to insanity and start punching other men for money?” I demand hotly.

            He shakes his head, “It’s not like I had any other choice. It pays well and I’m good at it. I’ve never lost a fight.”

            “And how long do you expect that to last? Hmm? Does Hazelle know about this?” I stamp my foot angrily; ready to kick him in the shin I’m so livid.

            He shakes his head as the corners of his mouth turn up in amusement.

            “Don’t you dare laugh about this, Gale Hawthorne! This is serious. What if something happens to you? What if you get hurt? What will your family do if you can’t work because of your ridiculous prizefighting?” I wave my hands widely with each question, never waiting long enough for him to actually answer, “Or, God forbid, what if you get hit and have brain damage? How many men has my mother told you about that were never the same after they had one bad fight?”

            “That’s not going to happen with me, Katniss!” he practically shouts, his face only inches from mine, “I. Never. Lose.”

            I let out a cry of indignation and throw my hands up, “ _You_ , Gale Hawthorne, are _impossible_!”

            “You’re not so easy to swallow yourself sometimes, Katniss Everdeen,” he seethes, jerking his chin in my direction.

            “What about the elections? Cray isn’t going to be the Chief of Police anymore. That new man, Romulous Thread, will be. How do you know that he won’t raid the ring?”

            Cray had always been amiable towards the Seam and its less savory practices if he was slipped a few dollars here and there to look the other way. But Thread’s appointment as Chief of Police was just made a few weeks ago, and there hasn’t been enough time for information regarding Thread’s disposition and morals to filter through the Seam. Gale scoffs at my concern however.

            “He’s a man, Catnip. He can be bought just like any other man. It’s only a matter of figuring out the price,” Gale reasons coolly, as though the possibility of a raid doesn’t worry him a lick. “The gentleman in charge of organizing the ring will be sure to pay him off well just as he’s done with all the others.”

            “Gentleman,” I mutter, “I can’t imagine he’s much of a gentleman, running a ring like that with boys as young as you-“

            “I’m _not_ a boy anymore, Katniss, incase you haven’t noticed,” he cuts me off with a low, threatening tone. “And just because he isn’t an industry heir with refined manners and white gloves, doesn’t mean he’s not a gentleman. He’s an honest man helping a lot of families survive. If he does it by running an underground prizefighting ring, then so be it. My family has more food on the table now than they ever have.”

            This shuts me up because I can’t blame him for feeding his family the best way he knows how. I still hate the idea, but I know he’s a grown man and that it’s really none of my business.

            Anyone else would have thrown me out the front door the second I shouted at him like this, but Gale is my best friend, and he understands that I’m just worried sick over the idea of what he’s doing. He’s the only person who can give me a run for my money, going toe to toe with me and shouting right back. Now that we’ve both gotten it out, we smile sheepishly at one another.

            “Sorry,” we both mumble in unison, something that we have perfected through many years of practice.

            Gale and I are too alike not to fight with each other at least occasionally. We’re both stubborn as mules and hot tempered to boot, which proves to be a deadly combination in one person, let alone adding another one to the mix.

            “I’m just worried about you, is all,” I admit when he pulls me into a hug, our peace treaty, also a well-practiced tradition.

            “You shouldn’t be,” he says, shooting me an arrogant smile. “I really do always win. Nothing really bad can happen as long as I keep winning.”

            I’m not sure I agree with his logic but I have no intention of arguing with him again when we’ve just settled down. I’m drained from the anger, and my body sags against his before I push away, bidding him goodbye.

            “Just promise you will be careful, Gale, even if you do always win.”

            He shoots me another cocky smile, “Of course, Catnip. I’m always careful.”

           

…

 

            I’m sewing a patch into the knee of a pair of pants when a knock comes at the door one morning in late March. Prim is in the bedroom doing schoolwork before supper and Mother is out taking care of the Davy boys who have all come down with horrid cases of the chickenpox.

            I crack the door open and Carl is standing there, gazing up at me with a mischievous grin. I haven’t seen him since just after Christmas when I sent him back with the strongly worded letter for Peeta. I had thought that ended the entire ordeal with Peeta Mellark, but apparently I was wrong.

            “Carl.” I throw the door open wide so he can walk in, “It’s been a long while since you’ve been-“

            The rest of the sentence hangs on the tip of my tongue, frozen in time as a grown man steps into view through the doorway. It’s not just a random man, of course; it’s Peeta. Peeta Mellark standing in my doorway, looking a bit awkward but otherwise quite like he always does, as though he visits the Seam on any given day.

            “Peeta.” His name comes out far too squeaky but it’s all I can manage. My brain can’t seem to form any other words as he steps inside the apartment, closing the door quietly after him.

            He smiles, “I hope you don’t mind but I took it upon myself to find your residence. Our good friend, Carl, helped me considerably.”

            Carl grins proudly as Peeta claps him firmly on the shoulder and passes him a small, brown, paper bag. The young boy immediately opens it and pulls out a brightly colored sweet, popping it into his mouth without hesitation.

            “What are you doing here?” I ask, though the words come out rushed and too loud for a polite conversation.

            Peeta doesn’t seem offended, taking a step closer to me as Carl continues to search through what I assume is his bag of payment.

            “I wished to speak with you, Katniss.” He clears his throat before continuing, “And since you seemed upset in your last letter, I thought speaking with you face to face might be a better means of communication. So, here I am.”

            I swallow nervously, trying to ignore the way his blue eyes seem to beckon my own.

            “And- and what is it you wished to speak with me about, Mr. Mellark?” I question, mentally cursing myself for stammering. I sound like a silly schoolgirl.           

            He smiles brightly, “Well, I’m glad you asked, _Miss Everdeen_.” I grimace at the use of my proper name, but he continues just as excitedly, “I have come to ask you- beg you, if I must- for a favor.”

            “And what favor might that be?” I ask skeptically, crossing my arms in front of me and straightening up, preparing to stand my ground for whatever he might propose.

            “I wish, most dearly, to take Prim to the Lincoln Park Zoo for her birthday. She mentioned it was coming up in a week’s time and I thought we might go on Saturday to celebrate. I know how much she loves animals and thought she might enjoy seeing some of the more exotic ones the city has to offer,” he states firmly, looking rather proud of himself as he finishes. He has, most certainly, practiced this conversation a dozen times over in his head.

            “Peeta-“ I start but he stops me immediately, recognizing the tone of refusal in my voice.

            “I would, of course, never ask to take Prim on an excursion alone. That would be unbearably improper. You would be her chaperone.” He gazes levelly at me, all of his cards now thrown on the table.

            Something about the excitement in his eyes begs me to say yes. I hesitate despite this however when I think of what Gale said just after Christmas- insinuating that Peeta thinks of me as more than just an acquaintance.

            “Katniss, say yes,” Prim’s voice calls softly from behind me, one pale blue eye peaking out at us from the door that she has cracked open.

            “Prim-“ I warn but she cuts me off immediately, swinging the door open completely.

            “Please, Katniss, please say yes. I did not mean to listen in but the walls are so thin…”

            She fixes those sweet blue eyes on me and I know, between her and Peeta, I’m done for. A tiny voice in the back of my mind wonders if they might have planned this during their lunches at school but I shake the idea away. It doesn’t matter anyway.

            I heave a sigh, “I suppose I don’t really have much choice in the matter now, do I?”

            “Thank you!” Prim grins, running across the room and throwing her arms around me with a gleeful laugh. She breaks away and throws her arms around a surprised Peeta, though he recovers quickly to politely return the embrace. When she pulls away, her cheeks are flushed bright pink in embarrassment over her lack of manners but Peeta is laughing heartily and her tension is immediately eased.

            And so we find ourselves on a grey, late March morning a handful of days later, walking through the main gates of the Lincoln Park Zoo. Prim practically hums with excitement as we walk along the neat path towards the seal exhibit.

            Prim had chattered nonstop on the carriage ride here about which animals she hoped to see and in which order. I hadn’t been able to keep pace with her fast-growing list, but it was nice to hear her so excited about something for once. The last few months have been difficult for us all.

            She walks quickly, keeping pace about three steps ahead of us, focused only on her destination. Peeta offers me his arm and I take it after a moment’s hesitation. We are more likely to be stared at if I don’t take it than if I do. Or at least that’s the reason I give myself as I place my hand on his forearm.

            I try not to think about his warmth radiating through my fingertips, leaving my arm tingling pleasantly. And I certainly don’t think about how solid he feels beneath my grasp. I lean, ever so slightly, into his arm- for balance, I reason- allowing him to lead the way after Prim.

            I look up to the man beside me but his face doesn’t reveal anything of what he is thinking. His eyes are focused on my sister, now practically skipping in front of us, and his lips are relaxed into the natural smile that he always seems to wear.

            My eyes wander to his strong jaw line and my fingers twitch, wanting for some odd reason to suddenly reach out and run themselves along the edge of it, to see what the skin there might feel like. Peeta looks down at me abruptly and catches me staring. I blush but I can’t seem to turn my head away. What on earth has gotten into me today?

            “I am so very glad you allowed me to do this, Katniss,” he says earnestly.

            “I couldn’t deny Prim,” I frown, “You’ve found my weak spot, Mr. Mellark, and you seem to keep finding ways to exploit it.”

            He grins like a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar but doesn’t deny my accusation. Instead, he chuckles to himself and hurries us along to Prim’s side where she is leaning over a railing laughing joyously.

            Though the weather is still not warm enough to say that spring is finally here, the chill of deep winter has melted away over the last two weeks, leaving behind a chilly, damp, air that seeps into my bones. The cool weather doesn’t seem to bother the seals at all however as they splash playfully in their pool.

            “Look at them, Katniss!” Prim exclaims as one pops its head out of the water only to dive back under the surface immediately, “Have you ever seen something so silly looking?”

            I assure her I have not. We watch the seals chase one another through the water with enormous speed for as long as we can stand before the chill forces us to continue walking.

            “May we go see the swans next?” Prim asks as she turns away from the fence enclosing the seals’ water.

            “We may go wherever you please today, Prim,” Peeta announces, “It’s not every day a young lady celebrates her fourteenth birthday at the zoo, now is it?”

            Prim giggles and shakes her head before heading off toward the small lake that the swans call home. The two white birds float gracefully over the dark water as we observe them from the path.

            “They’re so graceful,” Prim murmurs. “Just like the ladies at balls, I imagine.”

            Peeta smiles to himself and I imagine Prim’s words conjure up wonderful memories of his own time dancing with such lovely, well-dressed ladies.

            “These swans are far more graceful than any person I’ve met, lady or otherwise,” Peeta informs her. “That’s actually a mated pair; a male and female. Swans mate for life, you know. These two probably met when they were just young birds and they’ll stay together for the rest of their lives.”

            Prim’s lips form a small ‘O’ as she watches the birds before her. Peeta’s hand finds mine on his arm and I tense for an instant before welcoming its warmth as his thumb rubs gentle circles over the soft skin on the back of my hand.

            A smile tugs at the corners of my lips and I look away in order to hide it from him. I don’t understand the strange warmth his touch kindles inside of me and I’m not sure how I should react to it. This is something mother never warned me about as a child. Perhaps it’s not normal for my body to react like this.

            What am I thinking? Of course it’s not normal. I should not even allow a man of Peeta’s class to touch me. I’m simply asking for trouble, but I can’t find the strength inside of me to pull away from him when it feels so strangely wonderful to have him near me.

            “Oh look, Katniss!” Prim exclaims grabbing my free hand and pulling me forward. The sudden movement tugs my arm from Peeta’s and my dilemma is solved, at least for the time being.

            “It’s a brown bear!” She hops excitedly as the large beast ambles around in the tree placed at the center of the exhibit.

            I nod and smile at Prim but I can’t find any coherent words when my hand is practically humming, drawing me back toward Peeta and his warmth. Prim prattles on, reciting facts about brown bears to herself as Peeta steps up beside me.

            “Katniss,” he murmurs and, in my peripheral vision, I catch the movement of his hand reaching for my own. His fingers just graze mine when Prim screeches and we both jump apart instantly.

            “Primrose!” I scold, but she’s already grabbed my hand again and is dragging me toward an exhibit with a massive bison sniffing around at the scraggly brown grass.

            “Peeta, it has even broader shoulders than you!” she laughs joyously and Peeta joins in.

            Peeta doesn’t try to touch me again and I try not to think about the jolt of electricity that his fingers had sent through mine when they brushed. It’s no good. I shouldn’t feel anything at all towards Peeta Mellark because, I must face it, I am nothing to his world. He will eventually get over whatever this obsession with doting on my sister is and he’ll return to his first class world.

            It does me no good to get involved, emotionally or otherwise, with a boy that can never be seen with me by his family. Only bad things will come of it. I don’t need my mother to tell me that much.

 

…

 

_Peeta_

 

            Peeta walks out the door after the final bell, relishing the sunny afternoon, so much warmer than his afternoon shared with Katniss several days earlier. He smiles fondly at the memory; at how her skin had felt under his own when she let him caress her hand. It had been a momentary burst of boldness by Peeta to reach over and touch her, but he had been rewarded when she didn’t pull her hand away. In fact, he’s almost positive he saw her lips curled into a smile as she ducked her head. He had tried to hold her hand after that, but his nerves had gotten the best of him when Prim distracted them both.

            It’s not until he hears sharp peals of laughter that he actually observes the schoolyard and notices Prim surrounded by several girls he recognizes as wealthier students. He starts to smile before he catches sight of Prim’s face as she ducks her head away from the others.

            She looks close to tears; he can tell even from halfway across the schoolyard. Though he had thought the other girls were smiling at first glance, he sees now that it looks less kind, more like they are jeering at her. Peeta frowns and starts to make his way across the grass as inconspicuously as possible. He’s still several yards away when the girls’ words reach his ears.

            “I heard that Rory Hawthorne doesn’t like you anymore because you still look like a little girl. That’s why he never speaks to you.”

            “Your still flatter than an ironing table. Even the other Seam girls in class have bigger bosoms than you.”

            A round of giggles makes its way through the circle of girls and Prim’s cheeks flame red as she ducks her head further. Peeta can almost hear her wishing in her mind that she could disappear completely and it makes him furious.

            “And none of the other boys like you because, well, look at your clothes, Primrose,” a red-haired, freckled, and altogether plain-looking girl says snottily.

            Another round of giggles. Peeta is close enough to Prim now for him to see the glassy look in her lowered gaze as she pushes her way through the circle of girls. She murmurs some shaky semblance of goodbye as she does her best to appear unbothered, even throwing them a wilted smile, before she hurries off toward the back of the school.

            The girls wait until she’s just around the corner of the building before collapsing on each other’s shoulders in a fit of giggles. Peeta is surprised by the livid tremor in his hands as he approaches them, squaring his shoulders to look as intimidating as possible to the younger girls before him.

            The red-haired girl notices him first, her brown eyes widening in surprise when she realizes who he is. A smile spreads across her plain face, disguising the bitter look of ridicule that she had been wearing only moments before. It’s a talent that many upper class girls have developed since infancy and Peeta has always hated it; that they can so easily hide their true selves.

            The other girls notice him as well and soon enough his impressive, broad, eighteen-year-old form holds the attention of the entire group of girls.

            “I wasn’t aware that ridicule was part of a ladylike demeanor,” Peeta remarks evenly, though his hands ball into fists when the red-haired girl chuckles lightly.

            “It was all in good fun, Peeta,” she says, rolling her eyes and giving her best attempt at a heart-stopping smile.

            “It didn’t seem like Prim was having all that much fun to me,” he says and doesn’t wait for another phony response before he adds, “If I hear of you poking fun at her again, you _will_ have to deal with the repercussions, ladies.”

            “We didn’t mean anything by it, Peeta! You know how it is.” The red-haired girl reaches to place an overly friendly hand on his arm but stops when Peeta shoots her a withering glare.

            “I won’t hear anything more about you bullying Prim now will I?” he questions and the circle of girls all shake their heads reluctantly.

            Peeta doesn’t honestly know what he will do if he hears that these girls are still messing with Prim but he hopes that the threat of his involvement in the matter will be enough to end it. He is, after all, one of the most-liked boys in the upper grades. The fact that he’s three years these girls’ senior hopefully lends him enough clout to make them cease their teasing. In the small social circle of this school, three years amounts to a lot of power, especially if it’s matched with reasonable looks and wealth.

            Peeta doesn’t wait for the girls to try and explain their behavior anymore before walking toward the back of the school where he saw Prim headed. It doesn’t take him but a moment once he rounds the back corner of the building to hear soft sniffles coming from behind a tree.

            “Prim?” he calls out gently and the sniffling suddenly stops.

            A moment later the tiny blonde girl steps out from behind the tree, her eyes still glassy and bloodshot, though no tears fall from her face at the moment. Her pale blonde hair is pulled away from her face but several strands have escaped and are clinging wetly to her cheeks in betrayal.

            “Hi, Peeta,” she says, her voice still shaky with tears even though she gives a watery smile. Peeta decides not to beat around the bush.

            “Does that happen often, Prim?” He moves closer to her and places a hand on her shoulder in what he hopes is a comforting gesture.

            She gives a strange, noncommittal roll of her head as though she can’t decide whether she should admit the truth of the matter to Peeta. Her reaction gives him all the information he needs, however, and his heart silently breaks for the sweet, younger girl.

            Peeta realizes the blatant similarities between Prim and Katniss. How often had he watched the elder Everdeen withstand her classmates’ ridicule silently? Neither girl is ashamed of who she is and where she comes from but neither sees the point in retaliating against their peers’ cruelty. They have bigger fish to fry.

            Prim isn’t Katniss though and she doesn’t have the same tough skin that Katniss seems to have inherited. She’s kind and sweet and soft. The words of her classmates sting even if she tries her best to bear them silently.

            “It won’t happen anymore, Prim,” Peeta assures her, bending down so his gaze is level with hers, “And if it does, you come to me, okay? I’ll take care of it.”

            Peeta watches tears gather in Prim’s eyes as she nods her head in understanding.

            “Thank you, Peeta,” she whispers, getting the words out only moments before the tears spill over again.

            “Oh, Prim,” Peeta murmurs, handing her a handkerchief before pulling her to him in a comforting hug. It’s probably not the most appropriate thing for him to do with a young woman like Prim but there’s no one around to see and her tears pull painfully at his heart.

            Prim gives a shaky laugh as she wraps her arms around Peeta’s neck until she manages to gather her composure again.

            “I’ve gotten your shirt wet. I’m sorry,” she apologizes once she pulls away and dabs at the wet trails on her cheeks with the soft white square he gave her.

            “Don’t think on it, Prim,” Peeta smiles warmly. “It’s an honor that my shoulder was worthy of your tears.”

            This actually makes Prim laugh, causing a warm feeling to soothe the soreness in his chest that her tears had left behind. Peeta looks around to see the schoolyard is empty, everyone having gone home while he comforted Prim. He decides that it wouldn’t be safe for her to walk home alone since it’s already getting late, and her usual escort, Rory Hawthorne, seems to have departed without her. Peeta is surprised by the flash of irritation he feels towards the boy for leaving without her.

            “Would you allow me to accompany you home, Prim?”

            The younger girl smiles shakily and nods, “I would like that very much, Peeta.”

            He offers his arm to her with a flourish, which earns a chuckle as she takes it and he leads the way toward the Seam. They walk in relative silence, Prim only making a polite comment here and there to prevent any awkwardness, until Peeta spots a sweetshop and tugs Prim after him.

            He shrugs bashfully when she gives him a questioning look as they enter the store. “I always find that sweets help me feel better if I am having a rough time of it.”

            “What is your favorite sweet, Prim?” he asks, observing her wide eyed wonder as she looks at the glass jars that line the shop, each one full of sweet, nutty, salty treats.

            “I don’t really know,” she muses quietly.

            He feels momentarily foolish for asking her such a silly question when he knows that sweets are such a rare treat for children of the Seam. He remembers the look on Carl’s face when he had told the younger boy he could earn the bag of sugar candies if he showed Peeta the way to Katniss’s home.

            Prim smiles excitedly though, and it relieves his embarrassment. She looks like her old, innocently childlike self again instead of the humiliated, budding woman from behind the school.

            “Papa would always buy us peppermint candies near Christmas time,” she says shyly.

            “Peppermints it is then.” He steps up to the counter and orders the finely striped candies along with some of his own favorite, toffee. He hands Prim the weighty bag of peppermints and opens his own, producing two pieces.

            “Try this, it can heal anything that might ail you,” he jokes, handing her one piece before popping the other into his mouth, immediately salivating at the sweet, sticky candy.

            Prim’s lips turn up in a half smile as she copies his motions, relishing the treat as she munches contentedly. Peeta directs her out of the shop and they continue their way toward the Seam. There’s a long silence between the two of them as they each enjoy their chosen medicine for the day’s trials, but Peeta finds it companionable rather than awkward. Something about Prim makes awkward silence impossible it seems.

            “You really are too kind, Peeta,” the young girl murmurs as they pass by a couple of young boys playing a game of marbles. “You didn’t have to stand up for me at school… and you certainly didn’t need to buy me candy.”

            “It was the right thing to do, Prim,” Peeta responds easily. “Those girls need to remember that they’re just the same as you. We’re all just people.”

            She peers up at the older boy quizzically for a moment before turning her gaze back to the sidewalk, “Katniss will see it in time…”

            “See what?” he asks, curiosity piqued at the mention of Katniss’s name.

            Clear blue eyes meet his own and he can see her sincerity when she softly says, “That you’re a good man- a truly kind one.”

            Peeta’s heart falls a bit at her words. If Katniss doesn’t think he’s a good person then what _does_ she think of him?

            “Well, I wouldn’t expect her to think much of me.” Peeta assures her good-naturedly, “It’s not as though Katniss and I speak on a regular basis.”

            “You should,” Prim whispers, watching Peeta closely, her eyes narrowed slightly, and for some unknown reason this causes the tips of Peeta’s ears to turn pink. “She doesn’t admit it, but I can tell she worries about us now that she isn’t at the factory anymore. I think she fancies you a lot more than she even realizes. She smiles more when you’re around.”

            Peeta gazes down at the younger girl in shock. “Katniss isn’t working at the factory anymore?”

            “No.” Prim shakes her head, “There was- was an altercation…”

            Peeta frowns and opens his mouth to speak but Prim cuts him off. “You should ask Katniss about it. It’s not my business to share with you, Peeta.”

            “I understand.” He nods and they continue walking in silence.

            After a long pause, Peeta smirks at Prim who raises a curious brow. “She really smiles more when I’m around?”

            “Oh yes, Peeta,” she shoots him a conspiratorial look, “Katniss will deny it ‘til her dying breath, but I _am_ her only sister and I see her.”

            Peeta can’t completely comprehend why Prim has decided to tell him all of this- to encourage his affections. Surely Katniss would have her head for it if she knew. Prim gives him a tiny smile, a secret smile. For whatever unknown reason, Prim has decided to help him- to give him hope that he could still somehow win Katniss’s heart.

            For the rest of their journey, Peeta is convinced he’s floating on air. Prim, for her part, seems pleased too. Her eyes are still red-rimmed and her hair is messed, but she carries herself more freely again, as though she’s nearly forgotten the entire reason Peeta is walking her home.

             

…

 

_Katniss_

 

            Prim is late. I try to keep my mind busy so I don’t think about what might have happened to her on her way home from school. Surely she simply lost track of time playing with her friends. My thoughts don’t do much to assure me though, as the hours grow later, and the sun starts to set over the city.

            I’m sitting in the living room, stabbing fretfully at a frayed shirt seam when the door opens slowly. My eyes snap up instantly to see a mussed, tired-looking Prim. Her blue eyes are bloodshot and it’s clear to me that she’s been crying.

            “Prim, are you alright?” I demand, standing hastily from my seat, my work spilling from my lap to the ground.

            She nods slowly and shoots me a hesitant smile just as Peeta Mellark steps in behind her. I frown, taking in the scene before me- my teary eyed sister and the stately, broad-shouldered, and much older Peeta Mellark.

            “Peeta walked me home from school,” Prim points out needlessly and I nod stiffly. “I was running late, and everyone had gone home before I left, so he kindly offered to accompany me back to the Seam.”

            “I thank you, Mr. Mellark,” I say with another stiff nod, still scowling at the scene before me.

            “It was my pleasure, _Miss Everdeen_ , Prim is wonderful company after a long day,” Peeta replies formally. Katniss rolls her eyes at his stubbornness as Prim moves toward the bedroom.

            “I am going to prepare for bed, Katniss. I’m quite tired,” she informs me, and as she walks by, it’s easy to see she was crying not long ago, probably while she was with Peeta. I nod again, apparently words are difficult to come by tonight.

            “Good night, Peeta. Thank you again for everything.” Prim softly shuts the door to the bedroom behind her.

            My attention snaps back to Peeta in an instant and he still standing awkwardly in the doorway. I cross the room in two strides, leading him into the hallway before closing the door to my apartment.

            “You had best start explaining, Peeta Mellark, because I am not pleased with what I have just seen. Why has my sister been crying with you?” I demand, crossing my arms over my chest and tapping an impatient toe on the scratched, wooden floor.

            “I- well, you see- I mean, at school today...“ Peeta stutters, staring at the floors, the ceiling, the door- anything that isn’t me.

            “Peeta.” His gaze lifts to meet mine. He takes a deep breath but now that I’ve gotten his attention it seems I won’t be getting rid of it since he hardly blinks at all.

            “What happened?” I ask again when he just continues to stare dazedly.

            “When I was leaving school today, I noticed Prim with a group of girls in the schoolyard.” He squirms uncomfortably under my gaze, “At first I didn’t think anything of it, but it became clear that they were teasing her. She was upset so I stayed with her, and by the time she had calmed down enough to walk, it was getting late so I didn’t want her to walk home alone.”

            He scuffs the floor with the toe of his shoe and looks away from me again, “I am terribly sorry if we worried you. I had no intention to cause you grief, Katniss.”

            I don’t know what to say. Part of me wants to tell him to leave my family and me alone once and for all. All the worry I felt for Prim the last couple of hours has left me dizzy and I can’t think clearly and I want someone to blame for it.

            Part of me wants to thank him though, and that is the more unexpected of the two feelings. I never thought I would be truly thankful toward Peeta Mellark again after he gave me that bread over a year ago. I had made it a point not to become further indebted to the boy standing before me, but here again I find myself unable to refuse his kindness. My scowl softens into a small frown and I can see him visibly relax when he notices the change.

            “What did they say to her?” I question quietly.

            Prim isn’t one to be easily upset even if she is kindhearted. Coming from the Seam, we have both had to deal with our share of teasing. Prim has been spared some of the worst of it up until now simply because she doesn’t look like one of us, but I knew that it was too good to last forever. Children get smarter and more cruel as they age, and Prim is just getting to that most difficult time of adolescence, where everything seems to be changing too fast to keep up with.

            Peeta sighs, “They were making fun of her appearance.”

            “What about her appearance?” My eyes narrow. “Her clothing?”

            “Well, yes,” Peeta stuffs his hands deep into his pants pockets shifting uncomfortably, “and her body. The other girls have started- changing, you know- and Prim… hasn’t… yet.”

            His cheeks flame red as he speaks and I feel a blush of my own start to creep up my neck.

            “Oh,” I mouth, at a loss for words.

            “I spoke with the other girls. I think they’ll leave Prim alone now,” he says clearing his throat, shuffling from one foot to the other.

            “Thank you, Peeta,” I say softly. He looks up and smiles hesitantly.

            “Really. I can’t always be there for Prim and- and I am very grateful that she has someone looking out for her best interest.” He smiles wryly.

            “So you don’t think I’m trying to seduce your sister after all?”

            I roll my eyes and he chuckles.

            “You can’t blame me for that, Peeta. Your brothers-“

            “Are not me,” he interjects, reaching forward and taking one of my hands in both of his. I nearly pull away from him but my fingers are tingling pleasantly again and I can’t seem to take my hand back.

            “You can trust me, Katniss. I have no interest in- in doing that. My brothers are fools that way.” His lips turn up slightly, “Prim is a sweet, wonderful girl. I just- I want to help you, Katniss.”

            I frown, “I never said I needed help.”

            “No.” Peeta shakes his head in frustration and gives a sharp laugh, “No, you don’t need it. But I like spending time with you, Katniss. I wish you would just give me a chance to earn your companionship without thinking the worst of me anytime I try.”

            My eyes narrow as I search his face for some joke, but there isn’t one. Peeta Mellark is being completely transparent with me, and for whatever reason, he really does wish I would give him a chance. I suppose I owe him more than that for the bread and how he handled things with Prim today.

            I sigh, “Fine, Peeta. I will try to stop assuming the worst about you.”

            He grins and I scowl.

            “Do not test me though. One wrong move-“

            “Don’t you worry about that, Katniss. Haven’t you heard that Mellarks are the golden boys? We can do no wrong.” He jests. I roll my eyes because we both know Peeta Mellark has already made plenty of mistakes when it comes to our interactions.

            “Good evening, Peeta,” I say softly, opening the door and slipping back into the apartment as he softly calls after me.

            “Good night, Katniss.”

 

…

 

            “Prim,” I whisper when I enter the bedroom.

            Mother is already fast asleep; her deep breaths audible even from the doorway. Prim doesn’t say anything as she stands and joins me in the living room. She looks like she’s been crying again recently and I don’t hesitate to gather her against me. She hiccups, clearly trying to hold back her tears, but it doesn’t last long before her quiet sobs start.

            “Prim, my sweet, sweet Prim,” I murmur into her hair, “Don’t you listen to a word they say. You are perfect.”

            “No, Katniss. Just look at me,” she cries, her eyes even bluer when they’re filled with tears and bloodshot. She looks like one of those porcelain dolls they sell at the fancy toyshop, so very fragile and beautiful.

            “I still look like a- a child. All the other girls in school have breasts and h-hips and they are so pretty. All the boys look at them,” she struggles to get the words out through her sobs.

            I know I’m scowling as I look down at her but I can’t stop myself. It astounds me how cruel girls can be to each other and to themselves.

            “Look at me, Prim,” I order, taking hold of her, “You are the kindest, smartest, loveliest girl I know. You are my sister and I love you more than anyone in the entire world. You might not look like the other girls in your class right now, but you will.”

            “Why?” she asks softly, with wide eyes, “Why don’t I look like all the other girls? What’s wrong with me?”

            I sigh heavily.

            “Well, Prim, curves don’t exactly run in our family.” I hold my arms out in a gesture for her to look at me. She gives a little laugh and rolls her eyes but she knows I’m telling the truth.

            I’m going to be eighteen soon and I still have only the slightest of curves to fill out my dress. Part of it is because of mother, who is very slight even as an adult. A larger part of it, though, is our lack of food. Mother had mentioned it to me once, years ago, when I had observed the other girls changing, much like Prim has today. Curves develop from fat stores, of which we have none. Until I turned sixteen, my chest was flat as can be, something that my classmates had willingly pointed out as often as possible.

            “You’ll look like other girls eventually, Prim,” I assure her. “It just takes longer for us. We don’t have as much to eat.”

            The guilt as I say this stabs my stomach and knocks the breath right out of me. I’m failing my baby sister. I can’t put enough food on our table. I close my eyes and take a shaky breath.

            Prim places a hand on my cheek, “Katniss, we have enough to eat. Don’t feel badly. You are doing everything you can.”

            I let my forehead rest against hers, amazed by her compassion, something I lack so often. Even though she has had an awful day, she still manages to console me.

            “I love you, Little Duck,” I whisper.

            Her lips curl into a smile, “I love you too, Katniss.”

 

…

 

_Peeta_

 

            “Mr. Mellark?” The familiar voice squeaks from the doorway. Peeta is still settled at his desk staring at the tiny article in this morning’s paper. It’s been a week since he last saw Katniss and he’s been searching furiously for any excuse to see her again. This morning he had found a reason printed right in the morning paper in black and white.

            “Carl,” Peeta greets him with a smile and waves him over, “How are you doing?”

            He casts a sideward glance around the room. The younger boy isn’t accustomed to being asked about his wellbeing by wealthy older men, though he realizes Mr. Mellark is different in that way. He raises his shoulders with a little sigh.

            “Well enough, sir,” he replies, his voice cracking on the final word.

            Peeta smiles, remembering all too well the awkward summer he spent with a cracking voice. He had holed himself up in the back of the bakery for weeks to avoid playing with any of the other boys in town for fear that his voice would crack during a game of baseball. He could just imagine the humiliation the other boys would have caused him with their mimicking. Peeta decides to ignore the crack, though he’d like to assure Carl that his voice will deepen soon enough. The young boy is already shifting embarrassedly as it is.

            “Carl, I have a proposition for you,” Peeta announces in his official business voice.

            The scraggly Seam boy straightens up upon hearing his tone and fixes his shoulders back, doing his best to imitate the fancy men who used to buy newspapers from him. He nods firmly at Peeta who is doing his best not to smile at the younger boy he’s become so fond of.

            “Have you ever been to a fair before?” Peeta asks, already well aware of the answer.

            “No, sir,” Carl replies, a puzzled look forming on his face.

            Peeta grins. He gestures to the chair across from him and Carl perches precariously on it as Peeta divulges his plot, one that brings a bright smile to the younger boy’s face.

            “Your job today, if you agree to help,” Peeta holds up a finger at the end of his proposal, “is to help me convince Miss Katniss and Miss Prim to come with us.”

            The younger boy nods fervently and a bit of shaggy brown hair flips into his eyes. He pushes it back with a sheepish grin.

            “Excellent!” Peeta says, clapping his hands together once and standing, “I knew I could count on you, Carl. We should get moving.”

            Peeta grabs his coat and leads Carl out of the room. They’re just walking across the wide foyer when his mother’s voice rings out, echoing in the high ceilinged room.

            “And just where are you going at this hour, Peeta Mellark?” Her stern tone instantly freezes every muscle in both the boys’ bodies.

            “I- I was just-“ Peeta stutters, trying to come up with a reasonable excuse for leaving the house so early in the morning with a young Seam boy.

            “Well, out with it!” She snaps. Today must be one of her bad days and Peeta is thankful he’ll be escaping the house, at least he will if he can think of an excuse.

            “I was just going to- to call on Delly and see if she might want to spend the day together enjoying the warm weather,” Peeta says quickly- too quickly he supposes, judging by the way that his mother narrows her eyes at him.

            “And what business does the Seam brat have with you?” she demands crudely, glaring at Carl. If her women’s club friends were here, she would fake kindness towards the boy, but now there’s no one here to protect him from the verbal lashing.

            “ _Carl_ ,” Peeta emphasizes the boy’s name in hopes that his mother might treat him like a human who can hear everything she’s saying, “Is- is just leaving with me to run a letter to- to Cecelia Wolff.” He grasps at the first name of a childhood friend he thinks of. Honestly, Peeta hasn’t said a word to Cecelia in years.

            “Will you be home for supper?” she questions, eyes still narrowed.

            “I can’t be sure.” He shakes his head, “Don’t wait on me for supper. I will eat something down in the kitchens when I return.”

            “Well, you might have thought to tell me this earlier,” Adelaide Mellark spits sharply, “Now the cook will need to change her plans for supper tonight. Do you ever consider others, Peeta Mellark?”

            It doesn’t escape the youngest Mellark that his mother should not be one to talk about considering others. She has been known to spring a surprise dinner party on the cook and housemaids with only hours to prepare, which, in Peeta’s opinion, is far more problematic than possibly having more food prepared than necessary.

            It’s a blessing she’s fixated on this point though. Peeta knows that her frustration with supper is saving him from providing better explanations about where, exactly, he is going today.

            “Sorry, Mother,” He mutters, biting his tongue. He doesn’t need to start mouthing off to her when he’s hoping to escape the house for the day.

            “You should be,” she says raising her chin a bit, “I did not raise any of my sons to be inconsiderate, Peeta.”

            “Yes, Mother, I will remember to inform you earlier next time,” Peeta says and it seems to appease her as she turns to leave the foyer without further questioning.

            “Give Delly my warmest well wishes,” she says, her voice much softer at the mentions of the sweet heiress. Peeta restrains himself from rolling his eyes. He really hopes his mother will stop pushing a marriage with Delly soon. He doesn’t know how much longer he can stand it.

            Peeta ushers Carl out of the house quickly to avoid any other interruptions. The automobile is already waiting outside for them, as he sent word to the chauffer early this morning to have the car ready.

            “Change of plans, Carl,” Peeta informs the younger boy who is looking around in awe as they get settled into their seats in the automobile. “We will be stopping by Delly’s house first.”

            “She will be coming too then, sir?” Carl questions, but he’s gaping at the upholstery in fascination, reaching a hand to trail over the fine leather.

            Peeta sighs heavily, “I don’t really see any way around it. She won’t mind, of course, but I cannot risk mother catching us in a lie.”

            Peeta shudders to think of what his mother might do if she ever found out about his dalliance with Katniss. He would not put it past her to track Katniss down and tell her off. Vengeance would be the only reason Adelaide Mellark would ever find herself in the Seam, Peeta thinks.

            It’s a short drive to the Cartwright mansion. Carl’s nose is pressed up against the glass while they move. Luckily for Peeta, Delly is an early riser and joins him in the parlor of her mansion only a handful of minutes later.

            “Peeta, whatever are you doing here so early?” she asks with her usual easygoing smile as she greets him with a friendly embrace.

            “Well, Delly, I have gotten myself into a bit of a pickle,” he informs her bashfully.

            She laughs lightly, “Again? Taking a page out of Axel’s book then?” She lifts a perfectly arched eyebrow.

            “Not particularly, but I did tell mother a bit of a white lie and it involves you.”

            “Ah. I see. Go on then, tell me what I’ve done,” she smiles, enjoying this bit of naughtiness. Peeta thinks it is quite possibly the most naughty thing Delly has ever done, going along with his fibbing.

            “Well, you haven’t done anything… yet.” Peeta shrugs, “I told her you were accompanying me to the fair in Lake View today.”

            “Oh,” she claps her hands together excitedly, “how exciting! We haven’t been to a fair in ages, Peeta.”

            “Right,” he nods, “but we won’t be going alone, Delly.”

            She blinks at him once, then twice, before a slow realization dawns on her face. She gives him a knowing look.

            “This must be about your ‘cousin.’” She astounds Peeta once again with her ability to read him so easily. Peeta nods slowly and Delly’s face breaks into a grin.

            “Oh, Peeta, this will be wonderful. I will finally get to meet her,” she says grabbing his hands in hers and squeezing them happily. “I promise, I can keep your secret.”

            Her eyes sparkle with glee and Peeta once again experiences a wave of thankfulness for such a wonderful friend. He’s nearly certain there is next to nothing that Delly would not do for him.

            “We need to leave as soon as possible-“

            “Let me just tell my lady’s maid and change out of this gown and we will leave at once,” she chirps as she flounces out of the room.

            Once they arrive in the Seam, Delly agrees that it would be less overwhelming for Katniss if she waits in the car while Peeta and Carl convince her to join them. Carl hurries up the stairs of the rundown apartment building, an excited hop in his step. He knocks politely on the door and they wait.

            “Hello, Prim,” Peeta greets the pretty, blonde girl when she opens the door.

            “Peeta!” she says with a surprised look, “And Carl as well! What a surprise. Katniss didn’t mention you were coming.”

            She swings the door open and ushers the two boys inside where Katniss is standing in the kitchen staring dazedly at their appearance in her living room. She’s wearing that lovely blue dress that she occasionally wore to school, Peeta notices. It must have been made for someone else with more curves and a larger stature, judging by slightly awkward fit and short hem, but Peeta can’t imagine it looking better on any other girl.

            “Hello, Miss Prim,” Carl says and Peeta notices a slight blush rising along the boy’s neck to his ears. “Miss Katniss.” He nods politely in her direction.

            This seems to snap Katniss out of her trance and she nods back.

            “Peeta, what on earth are you doing here?” she asks quietly, her grey eyes searching his.

            “There is a fair today in Lake View and I was hoping you and Prim might join us.”

            Prim’s mouth forms an ‘o’ and her eyes widen in excitement.

            “Please, Katniss,” she begs her older sister, “Please, can we go?”

            “I don’t know, Prim,” Katniss says reluctantly, “Fairs are expensive and I have mending to do for Wednesday.”

            “I will be paying everyone’s way,” Peeta interjects and Carl nods in affirmation.

            “And I will help you with the mending so it will get done in time,” Prim offers, “Please, fairs don’t happen that often.”

            Katniss rolls her eyes but her little sister knows that she’s won and she gives an excited squeal.

            “Prim!” Katniss scolds and the younger girl blushes with a giggle, not apologizing one bit for her behavior. Katniss sighs, “Just go fetch our shawls then.”

            Peeta tries to conceal his grin, but when Carl pipes in, saying that it wasn’t nearly as hard as he had thought it would be to convince Katniss, he loses his resolve. Katniss scowls between the two men before her.

            “Prim has had a difficult time at school lately,” she shoots a pointed look at Peeta. “If this will make her happy, then I cannot deny her that.”

            Peeta starts to tell her that she’s a wonderful sister but Prim bursts back into the room carrying two worn shawls and leads the way, skipping out the door. The driver helps Delly out of the car once they all exit the building and Katniss immediately freezes.

            Delly doesn’t seem to notice the other girl’s hesitation as she steps forward with an amiable smile.

            “Katniss!” she exclaims breathlessly, shooting Peeta look of understanding, “It has been too long. How are you doing?”

            Katniss stares at her ex-classmate like a frightened animal and Peeta decides to intervene before she can change her mind about accompanying them to the fair.

            “I invited Delly to come with us so that I have an alibi to give my mother about where I have been all day,” Peeta explains cautiously, “Delly and I have been dear friends since we were still infants.”

            Katniss turns her grey eyes to him with a skeptical look, “I don’t need anyone talking about me at tea parties.”

            She says this in a quiet tone so that Prim might not hear. Peeta knows that she’s mostly concerned about Prim’s reputation and what people might say if they hear that the young girl has been traipsing around the city with an industry heir. The poor girl is already having a hard enough time with her classmates; she doesn’t need them making up stories about her dalliances with a wealthy, older student.

            Delly somehow manages to hear Katniss’s hushed words though, and she places a gentle hand on Katniss’s arm with an earnest look, “I would never gossip, Katniss. In fact, I quite dislike attending my mother’s tea parties. I have always wanted to speak with you, actually. You were just always so much more mature. I never knew what to talk to you about.”

            Each girl appraises the other, and Peeta thinks the two could not be more different. Katniss is dark and thin as a rail while Delly is golden and perfectly curved. Katniss is quiet and brooding while Delly is bubbly and warm. They are both kind though, and fiercely loyal to those they love. The only difference is that Delly loves nearly anyone, while Katniss loves very few. Katniss seems to be puzzling something over in her head as she stares blatantly at Delly’s perfectly coiffed and demure appearance.

            After a long pause, Katniss holds out a calloused, olive skinned hand to take Delly’s smooth porcelain one, “It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Delly.”

            Peeta thinks Delly might look happier than she ever has before as she takes Katniss’s arm and leads their group toward the train station. Peeta bites his cheek to hide a smile as Delly starts chattering on all about how much she admires Katniss.

            To his surprise, the dark haired girl glances backward for just a moment, fixing him with a look that warms his belly. She looks overwhelmed and uncomfortable with Delly’s praise, but the way those silver eyes seem to stare straight into his soul pours heat into his veins in a way that he can’t fully explain.

            As they walk, Peeta notices the furtive glances that Carl keeps sending to Prim and the way that Prim, so similar to her sister, seems completely oblivious. Peeta settles into silence as he walks along, observing the way Katniss’s step hardly makes any noise at all compared to Delly’s and the gentle sway of her narrow hips and the way the tiny, downy hairs near her ears seem to catch an imperceptible breeze to tickle her skin before she bats at them absently.

            Today is already a perfect day, Peeta decides, and it’s barely even started.

 

…

 

            Morning is giving way to the afternoon by the time they arrive at the fair and Prim and Carl are bursting with excitement after the train ride. Peeta finds travel by railroad tedious on most occasions but the joy of the group’s two youngest passengers made the trip much more enjoyable than most.

            Peeta purchases admission for the group while Prim tugs ecstatically at Katniss’s skirts, pointing out this game and that exhibit she wants to see. Peeta has never seen the young girl quite so alive except perhaps when he took them to the zoo. Carl is practically quivering as he looks over the many games of skill from which he can choose.

            “May we go to that booth over there?” Prim asks, though she’s already started walking in that direction.

            Peeta is about to follow after her when he hears a familiar grumble. Katniss places a hand to her stomach and blushes when she looks up to see Peeta watching her. He smiles wryly and places a hand on her arm to hold her back from the group.

            “Delly, do you mind watching after them?” He nods towards the retreating forms of Carl and Prim, “Katniss and I are going to find something to eat.”

            Delly waves them off with a simple “of course” and a knowing grin before she hurries after the two younger children.

            “You really didn’t need to do that, Peeta. I’m quite alright,” Katniss assures him softly, but when her stomach grumbles again impatiently, Peeta simply chuckles and leads her towards the area where several food vendors have set up shop.

            “Roasted peanuts,” he says, offering the paper bag to her. The warm smell brings a reluctant smile to her face as she shells several and munches on them.

            “My dad would always buy these for us when the circus came into town while we were at the summer cottage. Axel never liked them much so I would eat the entire bag by myself.” Peeta smiles wistfully at the memory.

            “They’re very good,” Katniss says between mouthfuls. “You really didn’t have to do this, but thank you.”

            “Well, I am not about to let you starve, Katniss,” Peeta jokes but Katniss freezes with a peanut halfway to her mouth. As soon as the words leave his lips, Peeta wishes he could stuff his foot in his mouth.

            He notices for the first time just how thin she’s gotten again. She’s not quite so bony as the she was the day he first gave her the bread but there’s a hollowness in her cheeks that had nearly disappeared while she was still working in the factory. Her dress is loose, and not simply because it was clearly made for someone else. Peeta suspects if he were to place a hand over her ribs he would be able to feel them each jutting out. Guilt overcomes him for never asking her if she has found work after leaving the factory but he can’t imagine any way of asking her about it now without further upsetting her. She’s still starving. He hasn’t saved her at all, really. He feels like a fool, dragging her around the city to see exotic animals and play silly games when she doesn’t even have enough to eat at night.

            “You are too kind, Peeta,” she brushes off after the silence begins to extend uncomfortably while Peeta is trying to think of some way to apologize to her.

            “Is that a flower exhibition?” she asks, clearly looking for a distraction and Peeta just hopes he doesn’t manage make a fool of himself again with this new topic.

            They make their way across the fairgrounds to the large, open tent where there are dozens of different blossoms on display, many with different awards on the table beside them. Peeta finds himself staring at Katniss more than the flowers as she appraises the different blossoms. She glances over at him, catching him in the act, and Peeta’s heart flutters hopefully at the small blush of pink that rises to her cheeks.

            “These are beautiful.” She gestures at the pink and white flowers in front of them. Peeta Mellark knows next to nothing about flowers (or plants in general), but he nods in agreement as though he’s actually well informed.

            “Yes, lovely… flowers.”

            Katniss chuckles, and he knows he’s caught in his bluff.

            “These are stargazer lilies,” she offers, her lips curved in the slightest of smiles. “And the ones next to them are snapdragons.”

            Peeta looks at the strangely shaped blossoms next to the lilies and wonders how someone decided they looked like a dragon. Katniss motions him forward to another table where she proceeds to point out each blossom by name. Violets, dahlias, lavender, verbenias and so many others that Peeta begins to lose track, instead focusing on the way her lips form the words and how her eyes squint slightly as she observes an unusual hybrid of a blossom.

            Eventually they reach a table at the opposite end of the tent and Peeta grins.

            “These I do know,” he declares. “These are roses.”

            Katniss smiles and Peeta revels in the fact that he was the one to cause it.

            “Yes,” she agrees, “these are very lovely roses.”

            “How do you know all of these flowers?” he questions curiously as she bends in closer to look at a deep red blossom.

            “I used to borrow garden books from school and memorize all the plants,” she says offhandedly as she notices a particularly lush, pink rose. “I enjoyed looking at the pictures and finding the subtle nuances that differentiate one flower from the next.”

            “Subtle nuances, really?” Peeta asks amusedly and Katniss gives him a bashful look. He knows she’s probably unsure whether he’s poking fun at her or not. It’s unusual for a lady to take such a serious interest in something that she would research it like Katniss has. Peeta doesn’t find it strange at all though. He has never expected Katniss to be average and it thrills him that he has discovered something that Katniss is passionate about.

            Katniss looks away from him and guides his attention away from her, “Which one is your favorite?”

            “Which flower?” he questions, raising an eyebrow playfully and earning an eye roll from Katniss as she nods. “That one there- the orange one.”

            “Really?” she asks as she looks at the blossom he’s just pointed out.

            “Is it that awful?” he chuckles at the surprised look on her face.

            “No,” she shakes her head, “Not at all. It’s just not- traditional.” She shrugs.

            “Orange is my favorite color,” Peeta admits. “Orange like the sunsets over the fields out by the summer cottage, which just happens to be the shade of that rose.”

            Katniss smiles wistfully at the flower before them, pursing her lips slightly. Peeta finds himself wondering once again what they might feel like against his own, but before he can delve very far into the thought, a small child walks by with a familiar box full of pink fluff that catches his eye. He looks around and spots just the booth he was searching for.

            “You must try this,” Peeta says, leading Katniss to the booth selling fairy floss.

            She looks uncertainly at the open box of pink fuzz in his hands a few moments later. Peeta tugs a bit free and places it on his tongue where it melts instantly, filling his mouth with the blissful sweetness he remembers.

            “What is it?” she delicately tugs a piece free and squints at it suspiciously.

            “Fairy floss. I haven’t had any since the World’s Fair was here when we were children,” Peeta explains excitedly, his face lit up like a young boy’s. “It is just spun sugar. It’s very good, try it.”

            Katniss sticks out the tip of her pink tongue to the strange sticky fluff in her fingers and Peeta is embarrassed by his thoughts as he watches, quickly shaking them from his mind. She gasps when it melts away, as if by magic.

            “Do you like it?” Peeta grins as she quickly eats the rest of the fairy floss she had taken.

            “It’s amazing,” she agrees, taking another piece. “Prim would adore it. She has such a sweet tooth,” she laughs, “But I suppose you already know that.”

            “I do,” Peeta agrees, “We will save her some and I think Carl and Delly would enjoy it as well.”

            “Delly is very sweet,” Katniss remarks, out of the blue, looking around as they begin to walk again. Peeta wishes she would look at him so he could see what she’s really thinking.

            “She always has been,” he offers. “Even as a child she would try and protect me by telling Axel to go away if he started to poke fun at me. She would tell him that he was terribly impolite, her little hands on her hips and everything.”

            Katniss still won’t look at him, her gaze falling everywhere but beside her.

            “Are you courting her?” She knots her fingers together nervously and Peeta is nearly certain that it’s a nervous tick and she has no idea she’s doing it.

            He can’t stop the loud laugh that escapes him, “My mother would be overjoyed if we were, but no. Do you think, if I was courting her, I would send her off to watch after Prim and Carl?”

            Her eyes finally find his and his heart rate jumps. Peeta is so close to her, he can see the way her irises have flecks of silver and darker grey that make them look liquid, almost molten, like they’re constantly moving and shifting. He can catch the scent of her hair.

            “I suppose not,” she says softly.

            “Katniss,” Peeta breathes, “I-“

            “Try your hand at hitting the target!” A loud, grating voice interrupts his confession, though Peeta still isn’t quite sure what he was about to say. “Three shots for ten cents. Hit the center to win!”

            They both turn to see a remarkably short man holding up a bow with arrows that have tiny rubber cups on the end.

            “A brawny man like yourself think you could win your lady a prize?” the tiny man goads, “Or are you one of them boys who can’t aim to save his life?”

            Peeta rolls his eyes good-naturedly and steps forward, “We’ll see if I can prove you wrong about that, little man.”

            “Ah.” The short man hands him the bow with a wink, “Out to impress the lady. Good luck to you then, boy.” Peeta’s cheeks flush, giving him away, though luckily Katniss can’t see from her position.

            Katniss stands just behind him as he takes awkward aim, trying to situate the arrow as he pulls the bow taut. His first shot drops to the ground almost as soon as it leaves the bow and the little man chortles, remarking on Peeta’s lackluster start. Peeta is thankful that Katniss remains quiet, though he’s quite certain she’s probably chuckling inwardly at his foolishness. The second shot makes it to the target but sticks to the wall, just outside the boundary lines, not even close to the bull’s-eye. The third shot, Peeta takes his time aiming, letting out a deep breath as he releases the string. The arrow sticks just inside the outer edge of the target, still not close enough.

            “A valiant effort, son. Would you like to give it another go?” the worker asks hopefully, and Katniss is trying to contain a smirk.

            “I am afraid I am a lost cause at this.” Peeta laughs then turns to look at Katniss with a wicked smile, “But the lady might be willing to give it a try.”

            Katniss’s smirk disappears immediately, “Peeta!”

            “Ah yes! A rivalry!” the little man cheers happily. “Here you are, miss, and best wishes.”

            Katniss reluctantly takes the bow and arrow, but not before scowling Peeta’s way. Peeta can’t be bothered to care too much though; he wants to salvage what pride he has left and that is best done by showing Katniss how difficult the task is.

            Katniss is not terrible though, much to everyone’s surprise, including her own by the look of shock that registers on her face when the first arrow hits the target’s outer boundary. The second shot hits the bull’s-eye but doesn’t stick and the third lands on the ring just outside of the bull’s-eye.

            Peeta knows his jaw is hanging slack when Katniss hands the bow back to the worker and steps up to his side again. Forget his pride, the woman in front of him has absolutely rendered him speechless.

            “How- who taught you-“ he stutters and Katniss grins proudly.

            She shrugs as they begin to walk away from the booth, “I don’t know. I played baseball in the street with the other children when I was younger, but that’s really the closest thing to archery that I have ever done.”

            “Wow,” is all Peeta can manage and Katniss gives a loud, lively laugh when she takes in his reaction.

            Peeta swears he is floating on air upon hearing the high, musical notes of her laughter. It is the first real, honest laugh he has heard from her, her head tilted back and eyes crinkled with happiness. She doesn’t consciously notice the effect she’s having on him even as he stops walking, pulling her to a stop as well since her arm is looped through his.

            “You really thought a girl couldn’t beat you, Mr. Mellark?” she taunts, still chuckling obliviously when the chilly breeze catches the loose bits of hair and sends them dancing over the smooth skin of her neck. Her cheeks are flushed both from the air and her laughter and Peeta swears he’s drowning in her energy. He just wants to freeze this moment when she’s so carefree and unguarded for once in her life. He wants to feel the soft skin of her neck under his fingers as he has so often dreamed of. He wants to tell her he loves her. He wants. He wants.

            Peeta doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he feels the smooth, cool skin of her flushed cheek under his lips. His stomach clenches and Katniss freezes, laughter suddenly dying on her lips. What has he done? What an idiot! Everything had been so perfect. She had been opening up, giving him a chance!

            He quickly backs away from her, knowing his face looks just as surprised as hers. His lips feel numb from the warmth that seems to have suddenly sprung up in them. Peeta shoves his hands roughly into his pockets. His movement seems to snap Katniss back to reality as she drops her gaze to the ground between them, putting up the walls that guard her again.

            “K- Katniss, I am so- so sorry,” Peeta stumbles through his apology once the silence between them has gone on too long for him to bear. “I should never-“

            “It’s okay, Peeta,” she mumbles, just loud enough to hear over the happy fair noises.

            Peeta takes a step towards her intending to tell her that it isn’t okay at all- that no gentleman would kiss a woman so suddenly and without her permission in a public place. At least no decent gentleman would, which apparently he is not. When she raises her eyes to meet his though, he is silenced. What he sees there makes his heart leap from his chest into his throat, rendering him completely mute. She’s not furious with him. She’s not even frightened. A bit surprised, yes, but what girl wouldn’t be?

            She opens her mouth to speak but a familiar, gleeful laugh sounds from just behind them and Peeta takes a hurried step away from her again. Prim rounds the corner with Carl just beside her. It looks like they’re laughing over something he’s just told her. Delly trails a few steps behind with an amused smile on her face.

            “Katniss, look what I won!” Prim exclaims when she spots her dear sister in the crowd.

            The look Katniss had been giving Peeta fades away quickly to be replaced by an entirely fake look of intrigue. Prim holds out the tiny sculpture of an elephant balancing a ball on the tip of its trunk.

            “That is so lovely, Prim.” Katniss smiles, but Peeta notices her eyes don’t light up the same way they did when she laughed just a few minutes earlier.

            “Well done, Mellark,” he mutters under his breath as Delly joins him and starts to tell him about the preserves exhibit they had visited.

 

…

 

_Katniss_

 

            He kissed me. I lift my fingers to gently brush where Peeta Mellark’s lips had been only hours before and I’m certain I can almost feel the tingling, electric feel of them still there, as though I might find a burn on the tissue if I looked at myself in the mirror.

            I was shocked, to say the least, when he had pressed his lips to my cheek, so gently and briefly, that I almost had to wonder if it had really happened. When he apologized however, I was certain it had, not to mention the lingering warmth his lips had left behind.

            Wasn’t a woman supposed to know when a man was going to kiss her? I had always gotten this impression from the gossip I would hear between girls at school, but I had been completely blindsided by Peeta’s advances today.

            What confuses me even more, though, is the fact that it didn’t feel bad. It had almost- dare I say it- felt good. Amazingly wonderful, in fact. I know that girls aren’t supposed to think like this or feel like this. Ladies aren’t supposed to submit to carnal pleasures like kissing boys they hardly know and worse, but every time I try to close my eyes to sleep, I can’t help imagining what it might be like to kiss Peeta Mellark on the lips. It’s strange and I’ve never thought of doing such things with any boy, not even Gale, whom I’ve known my entire life. Kissing Peeta Mellark is all I can really think about tonight though.

            I huff and turn to my side so that I can gaze at the stars outside the window. It’s all so completely confusing and muddled in my mind.

            Prim had enjoyed the day though, and is now snoring softly in bed with mother. Her smile had been enough to convince me that the day was well spent. She’s been so morose lately, dreading school and whatever new, awful things the girls in class will say about her. It’s only three girls who instigate most of it from what she explains but it is still enough to leave her feeling completely isolated.

            Peeta has kept his word though, always dispersing the group when he notices them, Prim tells me. He invites her to eat with him and Delly as well. I can’t deny that I have begun to trust him to protect her while she is there.

            As I start to drift off to sleep, Peeta’s face flashes across my mind again, waking me right back up. I had felt unreasonably jealous when I saw how freely Delly touched him. I had felt even more unreasonably relieved when Peeta informed me he was not courting the blonde socialite. I huff again and turn to stare blankly at the cracked ceiling, trying to block out these troublesome thoughts.

            I should not be feeling anything toward Peeta Mellark. Even friendship is a far stretch to have between our two classes. But then why had he kissed me? Certainly he realizes our circumstances as well. I throw an arm over my eyes and sigh heavily. Tonight, I don’t believe I’ll be getting much sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought! I love hearing from all of you. Your comments keep me writing even on the tough days and I promise I don't bite!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, you all are such an awesome group of readers! I never expected one chapter to receive so many reviews/kudos and it was just so wonderful to hear from all of you. I really do appreciate you taking the time to review and I assure you I read each and every one!
> 
> Also thank you to populardarling, my lovely beta who always finds the time to fix my nasty mistakes so you can have a more enjoyable reading experience.

_Katniss_

"Katniss!" Posy Hawthorne pulls at the hem of my skirt as she calls my name with a gleeful smile. I turn to her and smile as her dark curls bounce with excitement. "Katniss, look at my dress!"

The tiny girl spins in a slow circle, showing off the new, pale pink gown. Her cheeks are flushed, the same color of her dress, when she turns to face me again.

"It's lovely, Posy. You look like such a lady."

"Gale brought it home yesterday," she informs me proudly as Rory and Gale step up behind her.

"Hello, Katniss," Rory greets, "is Prim here?"

I nod. "She was speaking with Leevy near the door."

"Thanks, Katniss," Rory grins, grabbing Posy's hand and dragging her away with him as he sets off in search of my younger sister.

"Catnip," Gale nods his head to me, shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his corduroy pants- the nicest pair he has. He's wearing his best suspenders and white shirt as well.

We haven't spoken since the day he told me he was prizefighting and now a strange blanket of awkwardness hangs between us. I nervously bat the baby-fine hairs away from my face.

"Gale," I reply in greeting.

Roy Garrison, the fiddler that Leevy's father hired, strikes up a cheerful reel and a cluster of Seam couples gather in the center of the room. The normally tired, beaten-down people are smiling and laughing; something that is nearly disconcerting because it's so rare to see.

Leevy is positively glowing as she walks among the dancers, following Thom Brand, the dark Seam man who became her husband only hours earlier. Leevy is a year older than me and has lived next door to me since she moved to the city when we were eight. I never really knew Thom; he was three years ahead of me in school and now he works alongside Gale at the meatpacking mill.

Thom is a gangly, awkward looking man but he could otherwise pass as Gale's brother. He is the typical picture of a Seam man and Leevy the typical picture of a Seam woman, but today, none of that matters. Today they are simply a couple, one on fire with possibilities, one with a future bright with hope.

"They look very happy," I observe and Gale glances over his shoulder. He moves his hands from his pockets and hooks his thumbs in his suspenders with shadow of a smile before turning back to face me.

"Thom fell for her the first time he met her. He's been unbearably sweet on her ever since," Gale admits with a chuckle. "For about a week after he met her he wouldn't talk about anything else. I almost boxed his ears in."

"You, Gale Hawthorne, are such the romantic." I try to keep a straight face but Gale's mock insulted look breaks me.

"You're one to talk, Katniss Everdeen," he retorts and we both laugh. "Will you dance with me?"

"Only because you know I can't resist this song, Gale." I take his hand and he leads me out into the crowd and we pick up the quick steps of the reel that Mr. Garrison is peeling out from the old fiddle.

We dance until we're breathless and Prim and Rory join us as we twirl about one another. The music is unlike anything that would be heard outside of the Seam- a melting pot of all of our heritages. Even without the music, the hall is too loud to be mistaken for an upper class celebration. No one here tries to contain their boisterous laughter or tries to keep their voice demure. Tonight is about celebration and enjoyment, two things Seam folk are great at if they are given the opportunity.

The music suddenly stops, but Gale keeps his hand in mine as a massive cask is rolled into the room. Many of the men in the room let out cheers of mirth. Even Gale lets out a loud whoop as he makes his way over to Thom and claps a heavy hand on his back.

"Katniss!" Prim calls over the din in the hall. "Dance with me!"

"Of course, little duck." I twine my arm with her and we take off spinning so quickly that I don't really know which direction is up anymore.

Prim throws her head of blonde curls back at the end of the song and laughs from deep in her belly. She's wearing her new dress made from the lace and fabric that Peeta sent her for Christmas. She really does look like one of the porcelain dolls in a toyshop. Something about the sight of it relaxes me, as though every worry I have calms at the sight of Prim so happy. We still have bills to pay and I'm not sure how we will manage to make ends meet, but for tonight it doesn't matter. For tonight, we just dance and we are happy and we are children again.

…

"Katniss," Gale's voice, heavy with liquor, calls from over my shoulder.

It's late, and Prim went home with Mother a half hour ago, but I've stayed behind to help Leevy's mother clean the hall before leaving. Mr. Garrison is playing a sweet, sad song softly from the small stage as a few straggling couples continue to dance. Leevy and Thom are long gone as well back to the apartment they will share with Thom's family.

"Katniss," he repeats, stepping up and taking the wilted flowers from my hands, placing them back on the table I was just attempting to clean up.

"What is it, Gale?" I ask, looking over his shoulder. "Hazelle told me Vick would stay to help you home."

"I don't need Vick right now." He waves his hand in the air with a frown before taking me by the shoulders to face him. "I need to talk to you."

"Well, I'm right here, Gale," I point out, arching an eyebrow at him. His grey eyes are unfocused but he smiles.

"Yes, Catnip, you're right here." He reaches up to brush a loose strand of hair way from my cheek. "Right where… I can…keep you…" He sways a bit and trails off as he murmurs quietly to himself, apparently lost in thought.

"Gale?" I call softly.

He looks back at me and smiles, his fingers playing with the suspenders that he pulled off his shoulders at some point and now hang freely from the waist of his pants.

"What on earth is going on with you, Gale?" I chuckle, turning again to clear away the table.

His fingers wrap around my wrist though and turn me back to him, "Why didn't you tell me, Catnip?" He sounds upset, almost disappointed. "Why are you keeping secrets from me? I thought we were best friends."

I frown, "What secret? What are you talking about?"

"Oh," he scoffs, as though I'm simply playing dumb, "You know, Katniss. Prim showed me that little lion from the festival."

My heart jumps uncomfortably in my chest as realization dawns on me. I cringe wondering how much he heard about our day at the fair. Judging by his current mood, I would say he knows a bit more about that day than just Prim's prize.

"Elephant." I say the only thing that is resonating clearly in my mind right now.

"What?"

"It was an elephant. She won it at the fair," I correct him, " and I don't see what is wrong with that, Gale. We went to the fair together. That isn't a crime."

"No," he sighs heavily and wrenches a hand roughly through his dark hair, "but wandering around the city with Peeta Mellark should be. His family has enough money and pull that it could be made into a crime if they wanted you gone."

Gale sounds surprisingly sober considering how much he's swaying right now as I stare at him in shock. I open my mouth but I can't string together the words. All the blood rushes from my face and I duck my head so I don't have to look at his ever-darkening gaze.

"Judging by the guilty look on your face, I am going to wager that I'm right, then? You haven't stopped spending time with Mellark." Some emotion flickers across his face but it's gone before I have a chance to name it.

"Why do you think Peeta Mellark had anything to do with it?" I question defensively.

"Oh come on, Katniss." Gale lets out a barking laugh, "We both know you couldn't afford to go otherwise."

"You're drunk," I say, moving to push past him but he grabs my wrist as I do.

"That doesn't mean that I'm not right, Katniss," he argues, his grip tightening uncomfortably as he leans closer and lowers his voice, "You don't want to let Peeta Mellark pay your way through these things. You'll owe him a debt if you do, and men like the Mellarks… a girl should never allow herself to become indebted to them because it isn't just money they expect in repayment, Katniss."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Gale," I retort, yanking out of his grip.

He laughs condescendingly before leaning in again, "Catnip, you would be blind not to see it! He's making sure you owe him a debt before he seduces you into his bed."

"Gale!" I gasp, pushing his shoulder angrily. "How could you say such a thing?"

"You know it's the truth, Catnip," he states firmly. "You wouldn't be so upset if it wasn't."

"You don't even know him, Gale," I defend but he won't hear any of it.

"And you do?" Gale spits, eyes blazing. "Has he tried to kiss you yet?" he demands fiercely.

"No!" I shout angrily. The few couples still left in the hall glance over at us but turn away just as quickly. I hurry outside and Gale is close behind me. This is really not a conversation that should be had in public, but at least outside is better than in the closed off hall where everything echoes. I sigh before adding, much more quietly, "Not really."

"What do you mean, not really? How can someone 'not really' kiss you?" He raises an eyebrow.

"It was on the cheek. He apologized right after. It was an accident-"

"Oh," he laughs sharply, his cheeks flushed in anger, "Oh, Katniss, how simple can you be about this? He didn't do it on accident! He thought you would be mad so he apologized because he knows what he's doing is wrong!"

"Stop it, Gale," I order, putting a hand firmly to his chest and pushing him back a step, "Just stop it. You don't know anything about this. Peeta Mellark isn't like the others-"

"Well, leave it to you to find the one honest industry heir in the city then, Katniss," he mocks and tears spring up in my eyes, stinging angrily as I try to blink them away, but Gale isn't finished yet.

"He just wants to use you for his pleasure and then he'll toss you aside for whoever his mother wants him to marry. Then who will have you once you're used goods?" he fumes, pacing along the pavement and wringing his hands through his hair. He doesn't even look up to see how his words are hurting me. He's a man possessed and he's determined to make sure I know what he thinks on the matter.

"Don't talk like that, Gale. You don't even know him," I argue, but it comes out weak and shaky as tears start slowly escaping my eyes. It wasn't that long ago I would have agreed with Gale, but Peeta is different. He's shown us nothing but kindness, and the more time I spend around him the more I become convinced that there are only good and genuine intentions in Peeta Mellark's heart.

Gale scowls when he notices that I am crying, but his tone is gentler when he continues, "I know his type, Katniss, and that's all I need to know."

"Why are you being like this? I am a grown woman," I spit, trying my best to contain the tears that keep escaping down my cheeks. "I can take care of matters myself."

"Really? Do you honestly believe that?" he laughs sharply at me, "You're too blinded by your innocence to see what he's trying to do. He'll wheedle his way into your heart and then leave you in the gutter like trash once he gets what he wants."

A sob escapes me, horrified by the implications of his heated statements. It's not just Peeta's character that Gale is attacking, though I doubt he realizes it. His accusations imply I'm too simple to protect my own virtue, something that both stings and infuriates me.

"Leave," I order, pointing down the quiet road that leads to home.

"Katniss," he steps forward, regret lacing his features when he realizes just how much he's upset me with his words.

"Go!" I shout, but he doesn't listen. Gale Hawthorne never listens.

His arms find their way around me and pull me gently to him, "I'm sorry, Katniss," he whispers into my hair as the tears traitorously continue streaming down my cheeks. "I didn't mean to trouble you. I drank too much tonight and I've been so worried about you. I don't trust him a bit."

I don't respond. I don't trust myself to speak between the tears and the embarrassment and the anger that Gale's words have lit. I swipe roughly at the tears as he brushes a hand over my hair.

"Shh," he murmurs, sounding completely distraught at my reaction, "I'm sorry, Catnip. I really am."

"You trust me, don't you, Gale?" I question, a small, pathetic hiccup on his name.

He smiles fondly, "You know I do, Catnip, with my life."

I place my hands over his cheeks firmly so that he can't look away, "Then trust me when I tell you that Peeta Mellark is not like his brothers, or any of the other wealthy boys. He has been nothing but kind to my family and he doesn't just want to use me."

"Fine," Gale shakes his head incredulously, "I'll believe you, Katniss, but if he hurts you in any way, so help me-"

"He won't," I say, surprising even myself with how assuredly I say it. I don't know where all this confidence in Peeta Mellark has come from but I do know that I mean it. I don't believe Peeta is capable of even considering using me like Seam trash.

Then it hits me. I know exactly why I believe so strongly that Peeta Mellark is a good man.

"Peeta Mellark saved our lives."

The words are just a whisper as they escape my lips and Gale has already ambled back inside to talk to Leevy's youngest brother who is half asleep at a table in the hall. This is the first time I have admitted to myself how much the bread Peeta gave us means to me- how tightly it has bound us together. I want Peeta to be as good as I say, and suddenly I know that I have let myself become far too attached to Peeta Mellark.

…

_Peeta_

She's standing just down the grassy hill of his backyard when he walks outside. She's wearing that blue dress again but this time her curves are able to fill it out. Peeta makes his way toward her and she doesn't jump or pull away when his hands catch her waist, she just leans back into his chest with a shadow of a smile pulling at her lips.

"Peet!"

She turns to look up at him, her silvery eyes sparkling in the sunlight, beckoning his lips to come closer. He lowers his head to meet her lips with his own.

"Peeta!" A hand socks him over the ear.

"Ow!" Peeta shouts, looking up into the grinning face of the middle Mellark brother. "What the hell, Axel?"

"No need for such vulgarities, baby brother," Axel chuckles as he settles himself in the chair beside Peeta. "I just wondered what you were doing out here."

"I was reading," Peeta responds, an edge of irritation easy to detect in his voice. In all honestly, Peeta hasn't been able to focus on the page in front of him for the last hour. His mind keeps drifting to made-up scenarios where he comes so close to finally kissing Katniss, but he never quite accomplishes it.

Axel grins widely and tugs the book out of his brother's grip, " _Walden_  by Henry David Thoreau," he lifts an eyebrow, "Does Mother know you're reading this?"

Peeta shrugs. "No." Axel fixes him with a wry look.

"Secretly, you are a bigger trouble maker than me, Peet. One day the world will see it." He tosses the book back to the younger boy with a flourish.

"I don't think that's even possible, Axe," Peeta laughs disbelievingly.

"So, what were you actually thinking about before I hit you? I called your name four times, and I know Mr. Thoreau isn't that captivating," he states, relaxing back into the chair and turning his face up into the bright sunlight.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Peeta opens his book again and stares at the printed words just as he had been before Axel interrupted him.

"You had that goofy grin on your face again. You've been odd lately, daydreaming, forgetting what Mother tells you, the whole lot of it. You know, Peet," Axel turns to him and leans in to whisper, "I think you have a lady on your mind." He sits back in his seat again with a toothy grin. "I should know. I have had enough of them to recognize the look of a goner when I see one."

Peeta doesn't really care to know what his brother means by "had enough of them," and he certainly doesn't need Axel prying into his business. Things will get far too messy if anyone in the Mellark household finds out about Katniss. His lips curl up just at the thought of her name. Axel is right about one thing; he can recognize a goner when he sees one.

Peeta rolls his eyes to try and cover up the smile that won't leave his face now that he's thought about Katniss again. "I would really like to continue my reading, Axe, if you do not have any business to discuss."

"Oh sure, of course, Peet." The older boy nods graciously, "Just remember while you're daydreaming, they like it when you use your tongue. They might blush and pretend to be shocked at first but-"

"Thank you, Axel," Peeta says loudly, cutting off the rest of whatever his brother was going to say.

Axel cackles and slowly makes his way back towards the house from the small dock on the family's pond. As he makes his retreat, however, Peeta starts to wonder if perhaps his brother might be of some use. Clearly, Axel doesn't lack in the area of conviction. Peeta might be a gentleman but he's become utterly frustrated as he tries to dream up scenarios in which he might actually kiss Katniss- none of which ever seem to work out; even in his mind he isn't capable of wooing Katniss. How pathetic could he possibly be?

He wants kiss her, too. Boy does he want to, enough so that he finds it can become quite uncomfortable to contemplate it, but every time he comes close he chickens out. Even Dream Peeta can't do it so how can he expect himself to do it in real life?

Peeta groans and hurries after his brother, "Axel, wait up!"

The other Mellark turns on his heels and cocks an eyebrow.

"If I ask you for advice on something, how long will you mock me for it?" Peeta inquires, trying his best to sound as casual as possible.

"Well, that would depend on the type of advice. If it was how to put your clothes on properly, I might only laugh at you for a week. If it was about a girl," he looks at his baby brother eagerly, "probably the rest of your life."

Peeta sighs.

"It's up to you, little brother, that is the price you will pay."

"Fine," Peeta concedes, "How do I kiss a girl?"

"Ah-ha!" Axel claps his hands together triumphantly, "I knew it! So who is the lucky lady, Peet?"

"That's irrelevant," Peeta rolls his eyes.

"On the contrary, little brother. Different girls like different things." Axel straightens up and Peeta thinks he looks almost like a schoolteacher the way he begins to lecture. "If it's one of the upper-class girls, you have to be very polite about it. You know, make sure they see it coming, because they can get touchy really quickly, and not touchy in the good way. They'll walk off the instant you make them feel like they aren't a little princess.

"But the Seam girls... They're much more fun, Peet. They'll keep a man warm even on the coldest winter days, if you gather my meaning."

Peeta isn't sure he wants to understand what Axel is saying, but he has a feeling he gathers more than enough. He focuses back to what his brother is saying now as he gestures widely, noting that this is more passionate than he has ever seen Axel about his schoolwork.

"Regardless, though, there are a few things every man should know when trying to woo his lady. First, eye contact, Peet. Ladies love a man who can look her in the eyes when he's about to kiss her."

"Axe."

"Second, hold her. Don't just leave your hands down at your side. You have them so you should use them."

"Axel!" Peeta interrupts and the middle Mellark brother blinks a few times, confused by the interruption. Peeta shoots him an uncomfortable look, "I don't mean how like that. I understand the mechanics of it. I meant, how...how do I know when the time is right?"

Axel chuckles at his baby brother as he squirms, clearly not at ease with the topic of conversation. He puts a firm hand on Peeta's shoulders and the younger man meets his gaze.

"If you're wondering if you should kiss her when you are with her, the time is probably as good as it will ever be. It's not medical science, Peeta. You are bound to make mistakes- a lot of them, knowing you, little brother- but it's worth trying. Don't second-guess the moment. "

Peeta nods slowly, internalizing his older brother's advice as though it's gold.

Axel slides his arm around his brother's shoulders and begins to lead him back into the house, "Besides, any girl who is worth the trouble should be thrilled to kiss you. You might not be the best-looking Mellark brother, but you are certainly the most charming… or at least the kindest anyway."

Peeta gives Axel a playful shove. He shakes his head, but can't contain the light laugh he gives as the two boys head for the kitchens of the house where they hope to find some secret snacks before dinner.

As Peeta lies in bed later that night, he stares up at the ceiling, his fingers pulling distractedly at the covers. His eyes are wide and vacant, and anyone who walked into the room might think he has gone mad. He hasn't lost his mind of course, or at least he isn't insane. Peeta is merely lost in thought as he continues to argue with himself in circles. Sometime, long after the moon has reached its peak in the sky, Peeta blinks and his eyes refocus.

"You are going to do it, Peeta Mellark," he mutters quietly but firmly to himself. "The next time you see her, you are going to kiss Katniss Everdeen if it is the last thing you do." Peeta has thought it before and he's just as sure of it now- he is completely besotted with Katniss Everdeen.

He is silent for a moment before he screws his eyes shut and whispers, "Good Lord, it might very well be the last thing I do."

…

_Katniss_

"A letter, Miss Katniss," Carl says, his voice cracking a bit as he hands me the paper. He must be hitting a growth spurt as he seems to have gained at least an inch in height since I last saw him several weeks ago at the Lake View fair.

"Thank you, Carl," I say with a smile and I don't miss the blush that touches his cheeks before he looks away.

The door to the bedroom creaks open behind me and I hear Prim's quiet footsteps as she crosses the room. I take the letter from Carl and notice the hopeful smile that has made its way to his lips.

"Hello, Carl," Prim greets timidly and from the corner of my eye I see a blush rush to his cheeks again.

"Hello, Miss Prim. How are you today?" he asks, his hands wringing nervously in front of him.

"Very well. I was just finishing some schoolwork. Peeta has you working again?" she questions demurely and I have to turn and enter the kitchen before I start to read the letter in order to hide the grin that is tugging at my lips after hearing their exchange. I suspected that Carl was a bit sweet on Prim but now I'm certain.

I open the letter to see Peeta's familiar script looping gracefully across the smooth paper.

_Dear Katniss,_

_I do realize that this invitation is rather presumptuous and gives you short notice, however, I hoped you might join me today for an afternoon in Garfield Park to enjoy the most welcome change in weather. Some of the flowers in the outdoor gardens have started to bloom, and there is a conservatory you might find of interest. If you can find time to join me, send Carl back with word so that I might send a handsome for you at two o'clock._

_Truly Yours,_

_Peeta_

I frown at the letter. This is the first time he's requested my company rather than Prim's. Gale's warnings nudge their way into my mind and I nearly decide to tell Carl that I already have a prior engagement. I realize, though, how ridiculous that would be. Peeta has demonstrated nothing but honest intentions, even if he has sometimes failed in their execution.

Damn Gale and his silly, misinformed warnings. I want to spend time with Peeta today and I'll do what I please.

I quickly scribble a reply to Peeta stating that I would be pleased to join him in Garfield Park. Carl is still grinning ear to ear when I return to give him the letter. Prim is telling him something about school and he nods fervently in response.

"Carl," I say softly and his eyes tear away from Prim's face to meet mine, a slight blush tingeing his cheeks. He steps forward and wordlessly takes the letter from me.

"Thank you," I tell him, trying to hide the smile that tugs at my lips.

"Of course, Miss Katniss." He steps awkwardly for the door, "Goodbye, Miss Prim."

Prim smiles sweetly and the grin returns to the young boy's face, "Goodbye, Carl."

Prim shuts the door and turns on me in a second, "What did Peeta's letter say this time?" she demands, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"He wants to meet me at Garfield Park," I attempt to say in a nonchalant manner but Prim squeals immediately.

"Oh, Katniss, I knew it!" She hops in place then grabs my hand and drags me to the sofa. "It's just like he's courting you. You have to let me do your hair. Oh, and we can use the beautiful hair comb that he gave you-"

"Prim," I warn. She's getting ahead of herself. Peeta asking me to the park is far from a courtship, but she looks at me with such wide and hopeful eyes that I can't deny her her fun.

"Fine," I relent, "you can fix my hair if you must, but I don't want you going around thinking that Peeta is courting me."

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, Katniss." She shakes her head but doesn't say anything more as she hurries to fetch everything she needs to fix my hair.

I fidget uncomfortably as she works her magic, her hands weaving bits of hair and teasing other pieces. By the time she's finished, I look like one of the wealthy girls that Prim reads about in her romantic novellas. I think I look ridiculously overdone, but Prim assures me it's perfect as she buttons me into my only clean dress, a practical, green thing- the same one I wore to Leevy's wedding.

"Oh," Prim gasps, brimming with excitement as she walks me out to the handsome. "This is so romantic, Katniss."

"Prim," I say as gently as I can, "this isn't one of those stories you like to read-"

"I know!" she interrupts, "That's why this is so much better. Peeta fancies you, Katniss, I know it."

I sigh. There's really no use in arguing with her and part of me doesn't really want to. He had, after all, kissed me at the fair. Of course, he had apologized afterwards but he must have felt something, too. I couldn't have been the only one to feel the electricity from his touch.

"Go on." Prim nudges me towards the waiting handsome. "You don't want to be late!"

…

"Katniss," Peeta says warmly, offering a hand to help me from the handsome after it pulls to the side of the road. "I'm so pleased you could make it."

I smile at his childlike excitement as he walks with an extra hop to his step. It's as though the warm weather has taken root inside of him, melting away years of age to leave a schoolboy in a grown man's body.

"I thought the fresh air might do me some good, and it's such a lovely day," I reply as I loop my arm wordlessly through his the moment he offers it.

"Do you fancy a walk through the outdoor gardens?" he proposes, looking down at me with a look of joy mixed with something else I can't identify. I nod and we begin walking toward the cleanly trimmed hedges, the path crunching lightly beneath our feet.

"It's beautiful here," I comment offhandedly as I look up into the canopy of trees we're passing under.

Peeta smiles softly, "I suspected perhaps you had never been here before. I thought you might enjoy all the flowers since you liked the exhibit at the fair."

"You know me too well, Peeta," I joke. When I turn to look at him though, his eyes seem darker than usual.

Peeta doesn't say anything, blinking several times before turning to gaze off toward the large conservatory centered in the park. His free hand runs through his hair every few steps, making a mess of his curls, which I find strangely endearing. We walk leisurely through the small plots where several flowers have already burst into bloom from the surge of warm weather but Peeta seems much more quite than usual. The fidgeting is new as well and I'm not quite sure what to make of it. Why would he be nervous in such a lovely place as the gardens of Garfield Park?

We reach one garden in full bloom and I slow our pace to get a better look at all the blossoms. His free hand abandons his hair and finds mine where it is resting lightly on his arm. Electricity shoots up from my fingertips when our skin touches, travelling all the way to my stomach where it brings a thousand butterfly wings to life.

I glance up at him to see if he feels it too, but he is still looking straight ahead. How can I be the only one that feels it? My fingers twitch anxiously, and strangely I find that I want to tangle my fingers through his blonde curls just as he had earlier; somehow I know that it will calm the nervous energy. It's a ridiculous plan though so I turn to focus with renewed energy on the flowers as we walk by.

I point out the few I know from mother's healing and it helps take my mind off of the tingling in my hand as his thumb begins to brush circles over my wrist. A chill runs through my spine and flames seem to lick up my arm from where he is administering his attentions and I redouble my effort at identifying flowers. He seems completely unperturbed by our touch and I'm not about to play the stereotypical Seam girl starved for attention.

"These are snow crocuses," I point to the small blossoms in varying shades of white and purple. "They grow as soon as the ground unfreezes from the winter."

Peeta nods slowly, never meeting my gaze, looking only at the little flowers I've pointed out. His thumb doesn't cease its movement though even as I guide us to the next flower. He's still hardly spoken a word as well and I begin to suspect something is wrong; that I've done something to upset him or he'll tell me we can't meet with one another anymore. I can't honestly decide which one I would find more heartbreaking as I admit to myself that I've grown to enjoy his presence.

"This is an iris," I say.

This time, Peeta smiles at me, stirring a funny feeling in my abdomen that I can't quite name, like a gnawing. I decide it's worse when he looks at me with those blue eyes that make the sky look pale and washed out in comparison. It's unsettling and I look away quickly, all the while entirely too aware of his masculine presence. It's around this time that my mind registers that this is the first time we've ever actually been alone with one another. The thought sets my stomach fluttering anxiously once again.

"This one here is called bloodroot because the sap inside of it is the same shade of red as blood. Oh and this here-" I say hurrying off after accidently looking up to Peeta again. I don't really think this diversion is working. That doesn't keep me from chattering endlessly though. A lady ought to be quiet, I know, and I've never spoken so much in my life as I have since we entered these gardens, but the nervous fluttering in my stomach seems to be producing words that make their way past my lips without my control.

" _This_  is a buttercup," I say, waving at the small yellow blooms. Peeta nods but his eyes seem dark again, just as they did when we first started walking. I can't quite place a name to the emotion, but it causes the stirring to roar to life inside my belly and I shake my head to try and clear my thoughts.

"Prim is friends with a girl named Posy who found a kitten one day. Her mother let her keep it after they scrubbed it for fleas and Prim decided they should name it Buttercup," I ramble on, words falling quickly from my mouth. I know I should stop. I know Peeta doesn't care about some wretched cat that a friend of Prim's found, but I can't stop myself.

I can imagine the appalled look on mother's face if she saw me right now. Ladies should keep their tongues quiet unless a gentleman asks them to speak, but I honestly have no control over the words that tumble haphazardly from my mouth.

"I actually saw the little thing the other day. It's terribly ugly. Not at all like a buttercup blo-

"Katniss," he whispers, cutting me off, his voice much deeper than it usually is. I look up at him and see his eyes definitely are a deeper blue than normal as he watches me. I straighten up from where I had been slightly bent over the small, waxy, yellow blossoms.

"I'm sorry, Peeta, I'm talking too much," I say softly, ducking my head to hide my embarrassment. I have no idea how he can simply touch my hand and do this to me.

"Katniss," he repeats with a shadow of a smile as his hands find mine, gathering them in front of me, ensconcing them in the warmth of his own. For the first time since entering these blasted gardens I manage to stay silent, the words seem to have left me or lodged in my throat. My heartbeat surges as he takes a step closer to me.

"I would very much like to kiss you, if I may?" His voice is husky and it makes my insides flutter with a heat that I don't quite understand.

My eyebrows rise in surprise. I hadn't been expecting that. For him to tell me he just remembered an appointment and had to leave, maybe. Perhaps he'd even be curt enough to remark on my endless speech. But I never thought he would be asking permission to kiss me.

I glance around quickly and see that we're alone in this section of the gardens. The nearest couple is on a bench a long distance away beneath an old oak tree. I swallow dryly and move my gaze back to Peeta who is still looking at me with those same dark eyes that stir the warmth inside of me.

He doesn't ask again, and he doesn't wait for me to speak. He seems to know my answer without my uttering any words, which I appreciate since I'm sure it would take me the rest of the afternoon trying to form the three letters on my lips.

Peeta lowers his lips slowly to mine, allowing me time to back away but I don't; something about him pulls me closer. I have imagined this too many nights since the fair to stop him now.

When his lips gently slant over mine, wet and warm, I swear I'm about to burst apart and melt away all at once. I don't know what I was expecting. I've never kissed anyone before, always too preoccupied with surviving to think much about boys. It's soft and slow and sweet and tentative, as though Peeta is afraid I might scream and try to run away. I don't want to run though; I'm not sure I could even if I tried. I don't have a clue about what I'm doing so I allow Peeta to lead me, letting my lips move against his in a way that feels right. The heat that has been softly burning in my belly licks anxiously, spreading through my blood and flushing my cheeks.

It could be minutes or hours or just seconds before my hands twitch against Peeta's, longing to find his soft curls and run themselves through the golden threads. My movement seems to pull Peeta back to reality and he steps away from me quickly, releasing my hands from his as he does and dropping his gaze to the ground, cheeks flushed and lips parted slightly. I suppose I must look much the same, though I think my face must be a bit more bewildered rather than the ardent gaze that he fixes me with now.

There are a million thoughts that need to be dealt with but Peeta's kiss has left my mind melted and everything seems slower as I try to work through the soupy mess that used to be my brain.

He watches me for a moment, like he's waiting for me to run off, but I can't and I don't want to. Even now my body is still humming with the effect his lips have on me, dying to draw him closer to me again.

"Say something, Katniss," he murmurs, his voice hoarse.

I open my mouth to respond but nothing comes out. The words are stuck in my throat and I don't know how to release them. I'm not even sure what I would say anyway other than his name. I've never been very good with words, especially when it comes to describing my feelings. And especially when my mind is so muddled with everything…everything Peeta.

His gaze begins to fall as the silence grows longer and I decide in that moment what I need to do. Without a second thought, I step forward, reaching a hand to his cheek while the other comes to rest on his chest, and pull his lips back to mine.

He gives a sound of surprise, and I don't blame him for it. I'm surprised too at my boldness, but it only takes a moment for his lips to move against mine again, his hands hesitantly finding my waist. The tips of his fingers seem to burn straight through the fabric of my dress, heat radiating through my skin from the spots. A fire swells inside of me, as though rejoicing at the feeling of his touch once again, and that feeling is back again. The only thing my mind can compare it to is hunger but it's not the same hunger that I felt after my father died and we had no food. This hunger is all-consuming as it builds itself lower and lower in my abdomen, igniting sensations I've never felt before and radiating electricity to the tips of my fingers.

"Ahem." A prim voice coughs nearby.

Peeta immediately releases me and steps away, leaving an excessively polite distance between us. I look to our left to see an older, stately woman and her husband staring at us reproachfully only a yard or two away.

"Pardon me, Madame." Peeta bows his head to her, "Sir."

His cheeks are flushed bright red, though whether it's from the kiss or embarrassment or both, I can't be sure. Mine is at least partly due to the mortification of being caught in such a compromising state. The way the woman eyes me tells me that she knows I'm not of the same character as Peeta. My hair might be done up and I might be in my nicest clothes but it's still easy to spot the Seam in me.

Peeta takes my hand without another moment's hesitation, walking at a quick pace directly away from the elderly couple and their disdainful glares. He leads us down a path that is surrounded by greenery and into the large conservatory he had been looking at earlier.

I don't notice that he's laughing breathlessly to himself until we enter a smaller area of the conservatory that is silent besides the noises coming from us. I am breathless and nearly have to run to keep up with him as he leads me through the rooms until we find ourselves in one that is muggy and full of tropical plants and ferns. His pace slows and he pulls me down a path full of exotic plants I could never dream of naming.

It's not until he turns around and fixes those dark eyes on me, that I look around and register that we are alone again. We haven't passed anyone since we entered this muggy area.

He doesn't say a word as his hands find my hips again, less hesitantly this time, and pull me toward him. I stare up at him, unable to look away even as a blush rises to my cheeks because he's staring so intensely at me it seems somehow inappropriate.

"Katniss," he breathes as one of his hands leaves my hip to slide behind my neck and bring my lips forward to his own. Something about this kiss is different than those we shared outside. There's no restraint as Peeta's lips move desperately against my own. My heart races in my chest and I can't think. There's too much I'm feeling to try and think, and the only thing my mind registers is the warmth of Peeta's mouth against my own. One person certainly can't feel this much and live.

I relax into him with a sigh as the fire in my stomach ignites into an inferno and the heat of the room presses down on me, bringing a dampness to my skin as I slide my hands over Peeta's chest. He moans and leans into my touch, but his lips never stop moving against mine.

His teeth nip at my bottom lip followed by a brush of his tongue, and I gasp at the way a jolt of electricity travels straight down to pool between my thighs. I don't understand it and I don't have time to contemplate it as Peeta's tongue darts into my mouth and pushes against my own. A quiver runs up my spine and a moan rises from my chest, though I can't believe it really came from me. Only harlots and other women of low morals are supposed to moan.

I should stop this. I should stop it immediately. I should have stopped it the second he tried to kiss me in such a secluded place. But I don't want to. The fire is pooling between my legs and my body is humming for him, only for Peeta. He is the only thing that can make this hunger go away.

My moan does something to Peeta and he redoubles his attentions, pulling me closer to him. My hands travel from where they have balled up in his starched shirt to tangle into his thick, blonde curls, as they have wanted to for so long. The silky strands feel wonderful against my heated skin and Peeta groans deeply into my mouth. Slowly, his lips move to the corner of mine, pressing a light kiss as they travel, hot and wet, along my jaw, raising gooseflesh in their wake. When he finds the skin just under my earlobe and nips there following it with the soft, wet, warmth of his tongue I moan again.

Suddenly his lips leave my skin, and the muggy air of the room doesn't seem warm enough in their absence. He groans, a sound desperate and frustrated, and he pulls me back gently, his hands somehow finding their way firmly back to my waist. My mind is reeling, leaving me dizzy as I try to make sense of the loss of him against my skin.

"We should stop," he says in a low gravelly voice that sends a spur of heat through my abdomen again. "You will have to forgive me, Katniss. I have been too forward with you." He gives me a crooked smile as he rests his forehead against mine.

I am still panting, at a loss for words as my mind plays catch up, alternating between staring at his swollen red lips, and his heated blue eyes. He chuckles breathlessly to himself.

"I can't seem to help but get carried away with you." He shakes his head slowly against my own, "You have no idea the effect you have on me."

"Peeta-" I start and he waits for me to continue, but what do I want to say? I don't know what is going on inside of me.

My body is still humming with his kisses and I want to pull him back to me. I want to kiss him again. There's a keen pang of humiliation as well though and I want to push him away. How could he have made me do that? How could I have wanted to do that? I have proven myself to be exactly what that wealthy woman outside had thought of me when she realized I was from the Seam. I turned into some wanton whore after just a few kisses from Peeta Mellark.

I step away from him and a flash of hurt crosses his face as I brush at a few strands of hair that have come loose during our escapades. He brushes a hand over the front of his shirt, trying in vain to flatten out the creases my fists had formed there.

I lower my gaze to the floor between us and wring my hands nervously, "I should never have done- Peeta please don't tell anyone-"

"Katniss-"

"I couldn't bear it if Prim found out and the girls at school made fun of her even more than they already do. Please, Peeta-"

"Katniss," he reaches to take my hand and waits until I look up at him, a deep frown creasing his brow, "I would never tell a soul, I assure you. I took advantage of you just now, and it was not appropriate at all. I should never have let myself- I shouldn't have taken you to this room alone and…" He trails off as his cheeks turn bright red. "I promise you next time I won't let myself get carried away."

I scowl. Next time? Does he really think me so cheap?

"Say something," he whispers for the second time today, blue eyes pleading with me as his stupid thumb starts rubbing circles into the hand that he holds, quickly melting my resolve.

I pull my hand away, curling it into a fist in hopes that I can stop the tingling his touch has left behind before letting it fall to my side, "There won't be any next time, Peeta."

Shock crosses his strong features followed by that same sharp pain of rejection I saw before, "Why?" He asks meekly.

"Why?" I repeat, "Why? Because we're no good, that's why. Did you even see the way that woman looked at me out in those gardens? I'm from the Seam, Peeta. Nothing can ever come of this. And I-" I choke on my words as I remember all of Gale's warnings. I swallow dryly and look away from his piercing gaze, "I refuse to get lost in whatever this is and make a mistake. This was already a mistake."

There it is again, the pain. Only this time his face nearly crumbles at my words before he manages to get it under control again.

"That doesn't matter. They don't matter, Katniss," he says firmly, taking my hand again and holding tightly enough that I can't pull it away this time. "Please…"

What is he begging for? He could have any girl, Seam or not. He doesn't need to worry about his reputation. He doesn't need to worry about little Prim and how others might mock her for my indiscretions.

"Please, I know I took it too far. Good Lord, I know, but Katniss, don't say that this was all a mistake. Don't tell me that you didn't feel it too."

"I'm confused, Peeta," I whisper the words before I realize I've even thought them.

He steps closer and lifts my chin to meet his eyes, "I know it's frightening and I'll stop this second if you ask me to again; if you tell me that it didn't feel right."

I can't lie to him. He's still Peeta and I know he didn't mean for all of this to upset me. I know he means what he says; that, for him, it doesn't matter that I'm from the Seam. I watch as a flicker of hope blossoms in his eyes when I hesitate to answer, and I can't stop the tiny smile from pulling at my lips when his thumb begins making tiny, soft circles on my hand again.

"We should walk," I suggest neutrally and he readily offers his arm again. This time his hand immediately finds mine as he holds me closer than he did before, and I can't bring myself to pull away even though I'm so unsure about this.

"I promise you, I will never speak a word about us to anyone you don't want me to. This is private, Katniss," he assures me again as though he can read my worries.

"This is impossible, Peeta," I counter and he nods.

"It's unconventional, but not unheard of-" He tries to argue but I stop him.

"You're family would never allow it if they knew."

He nods in agreement. "Well, I'm sure my mother wouldn't be fond of the idea but I think for now we should just keep this between us and we'll figure it out when we get there."

"You would hide me away," I say quietly, disappointment tugging at my heart.

"No. I would keep you a secret only so that I can have you, Katniss," he replies just as softly, bending to kiss my hand resting on his arm. The butterflies that begin to flutter against my stomach instantly replace the disappointment and I wonder how my body could be so foolish. I don't try and stop it, and I realize that I want to give us a chance even if it is against my better judgment.

"I have been hoping to kiss you for a long while now," he admits after a long silence as we walk among the plant-lined paths.

"How long?" I question, enjoying the way he squirms uncomfortably at my question.

"Longer than you can imagine," he admits, his blue eyes defenseless as they gaze at me, "I have cared for you for a very long time, Katniss. You simply never noticed."

"Never noticed?" I repeat, "You never spoke to me!"

"I never had the courage," he defends with a grin. "You were so lovely and intimidating. I never knew how to approach you."

"Intimidating," I laugh, "Don't let my mother hear you say that. She would think herself a failure to have raised an intimidating daughter."

Peeta smiles sweetly, "Well, I'm only being honest. I've never met another person like you, Katniss. You're beautiful and sharp and funny, and brave- should I continue on, or do you understand where young Peeta Mellark was coming from when he couldn't gather the courage to speak to you?"

I look away in hopes that he won't see the blush he's conjured to my cheeks. How can our conversation change so rapidly? One minute I'm trying to walk away from him and the next he's flattering me.

"I've been hopelessly… sweet on you for years. Ever since that day when Sister Marguerite asked for someone to sing the hymn for music class and you volunteered in your red plaid dress with two braids in your hair, I've been a goner. I have never heard a more beautiful voice in all my life, even to this day."

I frown remembering the day clearly. It had been a hymn my father used to sing and I knew it well. So when Sister had asked for a volunteer, my hand had shot up into the air instantly. Clearly Peeta had been watching.

"Have I frightened you?"

"No. I'm just surprised is all. I never knew."

"You just never noticed me," he repeats with a nod of acceptance, "I figured as much."

I shake my head with a faint smile, "No. I noticed you. I just thought you were wealthy and spoiled and mean like all of the other upper class children. Whenever I caught you staring, I thought you were plotting some new way to make fun of me like the rest of them."

"And you've changed your opinions?" he questions with a slight grimace.

"I have," I agree.

"What is it you think of me now, Katniss Everdeen?" he asks gravely.

"I think," I pause and put a finger to my chin, pretending to think very hard though I already know my answer, "I think you're the kindest industry heir I've met, though that's certainly not a very high standard."

A little frown forms on his lips and I have to bite my cheek not to laugh before I continue.

"I think that you bake, by far, the best fruitcake I've ever tasted, however I've only ever tried it once before so I'm no expert really," I say, chancing another look at him to see his frown has now deepened into a scowl of disappointment. I could go on but I let myself laugh this time and he looks up at me in confusion as we stop along our walk and I face him.

I let my hand find his cheek and my thumb runs gently over his jaw, faintly rough with stubble, "But mostly I think you're the strangest, sweetest, most genuine man I have ever met and I cannot comprehend why you have any interest in a girl from the Seam."

His mood visibly improves with this last sentence, catching onto my joke.

"Katniss," he murmurs, placing his hand over my own and holding it against his cheek, "You have no idea how much I've prayed that this day might come."

The bells of a nearby church chime to let us know it's four o'clock. Peeta's hand leaves mine and I let mine drop, wishing away the chill that left after leaving the warmth of his skin.

"I should get you home. I don't want your family to worry," he says, taking my hand again and leading us out the conservatory doors, back into the cool spring weather.

I don't tell him that there's no hurry. Prim knows that I left to meet him and Mother is out on the eastern edge of the Seam taking care of a festering wound of a factory worker. Instead, I let him lead me to a handsome waiting at the edge of the park. I should go home. Today has already been filled with enough revelations and my mind needs time to process everything that has happened.

Once I'm settled into my seat, Peeta quickly presses my hand to his lips before looking up at me with that same boyish smile he wore earlier.

"You're wearing the hair comb I gave you for Christmas," he points out.

I can't help but smile at how much this simple gesture seems to mean to him, "Prim helped me do my hair and insisted that it didn't look too flamboyant."

"It doesn't," he assures me, his fingers brushing over my hand softly as he softly murmurs, "It looks perfect. Beautiful."

"Thank you." I duck my gaze, hoping he can't tell that there are a million butterflies fluttering in my stomach again.

"I'll send word to you when I have another afternoon free. I'm not sure how soon that might be. Mother is preparing for her annual Spring Soiree and she expects me to help with-" He stops when he notes my amused smile and laughs.

"Not that you would care," he chuckles, "I'm sorry. I'll send word to you. We'll leave it at that," he says, though his eyes ask if it's okay for him to do this.

I nod, "I will wait for your correspondence."

"Thank you for today," he murmurs and places another kiss to my hand.

"I truly enjoyed myself," I reply, my voice far steadier than I would have expected despite all the butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

Peeta doesn't step down from the handsome right away though. His eyes pierce straight through me, as though he can read every thought and doubt and worry in my head. It's not until the driver reminds him that he didn't pay extra for the carriage to wait while we said our goodbyes that Peeta apologizes and backs away, waving as the horse draws away from the curb.

I sit back against the seat and smile like some lovesick schoolgirl. So much has changed this afternoon and I'm not sure exactly what to make of all of it. I still have my reservations about Peeta and I together but I can't help but be happy as well. Kissing him had been everything I thought it might be. Simply thinking about his lips against mine sends jolts of electricity pulsing through my limbs.

Of course it isn't simple. I'm not sure how to explain to him that I can't allow myself to be vulnerable enough to love him. My family can't survive if fall apart and there is a good chance that might happen if I let myself become too close to Peeta. Not to mention what his family would do if they found out. But today I don't think of that. Today, all I think about is the way I swore I was melting under his touch and the look in Peeta's eyes when he finally leaned in to kiss me.

I'm lost in my memories until the handsome pulls up outside of my building and I realize it is not the only carriage here. I frown at the site of the simple buggy and shaggy, bay horse. It is highly unusual to see any kind of horse and cart in this section of the Seam because it is strictly residential. The few businesses that might be receiving deliveries are several blocks away and no Seam family could afford its own horse. I make my way into the apartment and find the door is already unlocked.

"Katniss!" Prim's anxious voice greets me the second I walk through the door.

I take in the scene before me and feel my blood run cold. A short, portly man in his early forties is sitting on our sofa drinking tea from our chipped tea set. He gets to his feet when he sees me, appearing less than pleased to be waiting.

"This is Mr. Holt from the collection agency," Prim says, giving me a fearful glance before turning back and beaming at Mr. Holt, "Mr. Holt this is my older sister Miss Katniss Everdeen."

"Miss Everdeen," he nods elegantly.

"Mr. Holt," I return with a tense smile, "Please, do sit down. What might I help you with today?"

I settle down in the dining chair that Prim has pulled in from the table. Prim disappears silently into our bedroom, closing the door behind her with a click. Mr. Holt sends me a skeptical glance over the rim of his teacup.

"Is Ms. Everdeen unavailable?" he questions, ignoring my offer.

I straighten up in my seat, hoping it might make me appear older, "I assure you I can deal with any concerns you might have. I deal with most of our finances, anyway."

He settles down his teacup on the saucer and levels a business gaze at me.

"Well, Miss Everdeen, if you are in charge of your household's finances then you should be well aware that your family is behind on paying rent for this apartment. You have yet to pay last month's rent and the next payment is due two weeks from today."

I nod slowly, "I am aware, Mr. Holt. We have been having a rough time making ends meet late-"

"I am not here for sad stories as to why you haven't paid your debts, Miss Everdeen. I am here to collect what is owed to my employers." He tugs sharply at his suit jacket, which is stretched rather tightly across his prodigious belly.

"We do not have the money yet, Mr. Holt, but I promise you we will have it in time for the next payment," I say earnestly, but Mr. Holt frowns, narrowing his beady eyes at me.

"What collateral do you have to give me presently so I know your intentions are valid, Miss Everdeen? I am not in the business of charity, and I can have you put out on the streets tonight-"

"No, please!" I interrupt, hastily standing and retrieving the small envelope from under my mother's mattress. Prim watches me nervously but we don't exchange a word before I return to Mr. Holt.

"We don't have much here." I hand him what money we do have, save for the few coins still sitting loose under the mattress in the bedroom. Those we will need for food, and even then they might not be enough to keep us alive.

Mr. Holt opens the paper and counts out what's inside. It's only enough to cover half of last month's rent. He raises an eyebrow at the sum and looks up at me.

"And how, may I ask, are you planning to come up with the sum of one and a half month's rent in the course of two weeks?" he inquires, causing my heart to sink.

I don't have a real answer to give him. My mother has been working regularly enough but no one she sees seems to have the money to pay her for her work. The mending I have been doing is what earned the money Mr. Holt is holding now but that took me over a month to save.

"We are owed debt ourselves, Mr. Holt, and I plan to collect on it later this week," I lie. My voice shakes as I speak, but I pray that it isn't noticeable to the older man.

He lets out a long sigh and runs a finger over the money, the bills flipping crisply against one another. After a moment, he taps the bills together and folds them into the pocket of his suit jacket, standing as he does.

"Very well, Miss Everdeen. Two weeks." He holds up a finger, "You will have all the money then or you will be evicted."

"Thank you, Mr. Holt," I say, leading him to the doors, hoping to get him out of my home as quickly as possible.

"I promise you, you will have your money." It's a lie and I know it. I think Mr. Holt knows it too but he nods and steps out the door anyway.

"Katniss, what are we going to do?" Prim's soft, frightened voice asks as soon as the door is shut behind Mr. Holt.

"I don't know, Prim," I answer tiredly, "I'll figure something out though. Don't you worry, little duck." I ruffle her hair and try to smile but my lips only curve up weakly.

In bed later that night, I can't fall asleep, which is becoming an all too frequent occurrence. I think about Peeta and his sweet kisses that made my body burn and how everything seems to be working against me except for Peeta. He's a singular light in the darkness just like Prim. I think about Mr. Holt and the threat of losing the apartment. I know there's no way I can earn the money to pay what we owe for rent.

My eyes burn with tears that I refuse to shed. I won't start crying; crying means I'm hopeless; crying means I am giving up. But I can't give up. My family needs me to figure this out.

What am I going to do?

…

I'm just returning home from delivering the mending to Hazelle a few days after Peeta and I spent our afternoon in the park. My skirt pocket is filled with a handful of coins, but I still haven't come up with a solution for the rent we owe and the impending doom weighs me down as I try to go about my other duties. I reach the top of the stairs to see Carl slouched in the corner by my door. I spent some time speaking with Hazelle during my visit, but I still haven't been gone for more than a half an hour; the boy is dozing off despite the short wait though.

"Carl?" I ask softly and the boy's head jerks up suddenly.

He smiles sheepishly and stands, "Sorry, Miss Katniss. I must have been more tired than I thought. The baby was up crying all night. Mama said she's got the croup. From Mr. Mellark," he says, tiredly handing me the now familiar envelope.

I frown, "How long has the baby been sick?"

"A week, Miss Katniss?" He shrugs, "I'm not sure. She's been crying something awful for the last two nights, though."

"I see," I say, tearing open the letter and reading its contents quickly.

Peeta's loopy scrawl explains that he will have an afternoon free of his mother in two weeks time and he hopes that I might accompany him to the Chicago Art Institute. Apparently, the museum has just purchased a new Degas that he is most eager to see. I have no idea what a Degas is but I more than welcome the chance to spend another afternoon with Peeta after everything that has happened of late. An afternoon with Peeta away from all my worries might do me some good.

"You tell Mr. Mellark that I will join him in two weeks. Before you leave, Carl," I say catching the boy as he turns to walk down the stairs, "where do you live? I'll send my mother to check on the baby."

"Father said we can't afford a doctor," he says solemnly.

"My mother isn't a real doctor, and she won't ask for you to pay," I say, shaking my head, "It's a favor for a friend. Now where do you live?"

He smiles brightly at the mention of being friends and happily gives me directions to a building about three blocks north of ours. We might not have enough money to go around but I know my mother would never turn an infant away just because the family couldn't pay her. It is part of the reason money is so tight. Many families have to pay in I-Owe-You's, which are rarely ever repaid in coin and paper if they are repaid at all.

When Mother returns later that afternoon, I mention Carl's predicament to her before she even shuts the door. She slowly shifts her shawl from her shoulders and folds it contemplatively in her hands as I briefly tell her what I know. She nods and replaces the thin, worn fabric around her shoulders.

"Can you take care of your sister? Make her supper?" she asks, her frail, pale hand already reaching for her bag as she heads toward the door.

"Of course," I reply and the door clicks shut almost instantly. It irks me that she would even bother asking. Am I not the one who normally takes care of our family? Didn't I keep us alive when she decided to hide inside her mind?

I ignore my anger though as I make do with what little food we have in the cabinets. Prim joins me at the counter, chopping a sweet onion to make a stew. She's getting thinner, I notice, the hollows in her cheeks deepening every day it seems, her eyes beginning to look too big for her face. I have to figure something out soon or we'll be out on the streets and she'll starve. We all will.

…

"Katniss!" Prim's sleepy voice hisses my name as she shakes me.

Slowly, I wake up from my hazy dream. I was alone on the cold, foggy streets and I somehow knew that we had no home anymore. I could hear Prim whimpering in the mist but I couldn't find her no matter how many allies I searched for her in.

"Hmmm." I roll over. It's been a week since Mr. Holt came to our house and it's still dark outside when I open my eyes.

"Katniss, wake up!" she urges. "Someone is at the door shouting your name."

I sit up and rub the sleep away from my eyes, "What? What time is it? Who is it, Prim?"

I stand and fetch Mother's dressing gown to cover myself with since neither Prim nor myself have one.

"It's nearly three in the morning. I don't know who it is. He won't say when I ask. He just keeps shouting that he needs to see you," Prim explains in hushed tones so as not to wake mother. I notice the faint pounding on the door now that I am awake and wonder how on earth it managed to wake Prim up. She's normally a much heavier sleeper than I am.

"Alright." I put a hand on her shoulder and squeeze, "You go back to sleep, little duck. I'll take care of whatever this is."

The knocking is much louder once I step into the living room and I can hear a vaguely familiar voice muttering from the other side of the door.

"Need to. I just need to," he mumbles to himself, "Katniss, I need to- to talk… to you…"

I frown, whoever it is they're clearly drunk. I silently unlock the door and crack it open, but it swings on its hinges as a man stumbles into our apartment since had been leaning against the door.

"Gale?" I question incredulously, not quite believing the drunken mess of a man in front of me.

"Catnip," he murmurs to himself with a content smile from where he's splayed across the floor.

"Gale, what are you doing here?" I demand, helping him sit up, though he sways precariously, "Why are you drunk?"

"Katniss," he says firmly, his unfocused gaze finding my face, "I needed- needed to talk to you."

"Gale, all you need right now is to sleep this off," I scold, "What were you even thinking, drinking enough to be like this?"

"That I- I was thinking that I wanted- to talk," he hiccups slightly between his words and his breath smells sharply of whiskey.

I sigh and pull up on his arms. "Get up, Gale. You can stay here on the couch until you sleep it off."

"I don't want to. Katniss, I don't want to sleep," he argues but stumbles to his feet anyway, "I want to talk."

I guide him haphazardly to the couch in our living room, managing to upset a small table that sits beside it in the process of settling Gale onto the cushions.

"What's that?" he questions in a childlike manner when he hears the heavy thud of the table falling.

"Nothing," I reply, pulling an old blanket over him, "Just sleep, Gale. I assure you, we will talk in the morning."

He falls asleep almost instantly when his eyes close, his snore echoing loudly in the small room. Now that I have a moment to look at him, I realize he definitely has not quit prizefighting. His sleeves are rolled up and both of his arms have angry greenish bruises dotting them. I can see a newer, purple bruise peaking out from the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. His nose looks off center too, which I never noticed before, and I wonder if he broke it recently.

He'll keep until morning though so I grab my blanket and pillow before I curl up on the living room floor. It's comfortable enough and somehow Gale's heavy snores help me drift off to sleep until the morning.

When I wake, Gale is staring at me from his seat on the couch, looking a little green about the gills but otherwise well. I pull the blanket closer around me and sit up, scowling at him and waiting for his explanation.

"Hello, Catnip," he murmurs, his voice dry and hoarse.

I arch an eyebrow at him and he grimaces.

"I'm sorry about last night. I clearly wasn't thinking straight," he apologizes, wincing again as he sits up.

"Clearly," I agree. "What on earth were you thinking, Gale?"

"I was furious and I needed to do something to take my mind off of it." He wrenches a hand through his thick, dark hair, irritation darkening his features as he does.

"Why?" I scowl at his reasoning. It isn't unusual for Gale to be angry but I have never known him to get drunk over anything.

"Prim told me, Katniss."

My blood freezes.

"Wh- what? Prim told you what?" I demand, though I fear I already know.

Prim cornered me the day after Peeta asked me to join him in the park. She claimed that I had been acting differently and I confessed that Peeta had kissed me, unable to deny her anything, even this secret. She squealed excitedly, mooning about how romantic it all was and practically started planning a wedding though I warned her against it. She also promised me that she wouldn't say a word about it to another soul.

"She told me that you kissed Peeta." His words are cool and even but I can feel the tension pouring off of him. Evidently, Prim had slipped up.

"No she didn't, Gale," I fume and let the thought slip, "She would never have told you because I specifically told her-"

"What? You told her not to tell me? Nice, Katniss, hiding it from your best friend. Well, fine then, she told Posy. The two of them are dangerously hopeless romantics," he informs me, his voice angry and rising with every word.

"You were eavesdropping then- spying on me!" I shout and he cringes.

"Katniss, please don't yell-"

"Don't yell because you have a headache after nearly drinking yourself to death?" I screech, standing up from my seat on the floor, the blanket still wrapped tightly around my shoulders. "Or don't yell at you because you think it is acceptable to spy on your best friend?"

He stands too, his face paling as he does from the rapid movement, "I wasn't spying! I am worried about you with Peeta Mellark, Katniss. He's-"

"Stop it!" I shout, pushing at his shoulder angrily with the hand that isn't holding the blanket around me, "You don't even know him. You haven't spoken two words to Peeta in your life!"

He fixes me with a shocked look. Clearly my reaction is both unladylike and completely unexpected even from the hotheaded Katniss Everdeen.

"You're on a first name basis with him, then?" he scoffs, looking up to the ceiling before turning his burning gaze back to me, "It isn't right. A girl like you shouldn't allow a man like him to court you- or whatever it is you call what you're doing!" He argues stubbornly.

"A girl like me?" I spit, "What, Gale, a Seam girl?"

"Yes!" He throws his hands up, "That is exactly what you are!"

His words cut right through me and I scowl at him in hopes that this will hide the tears that have stupidly sprung up in my eyes. I always thought that Gale, of all people, would understand that being Seam doesn't have to mean anything, it is simply where we come from, not who we are.

"Some self-serving, conniving industry heir doesn't deserve you, Katniss!" he states fervently, the anger beginning to drain from his face, "He doesn't deserve your affections."

"Why would you care what I do with, Peeta?" I demand irately, my pride still stinging from his earlier words, "What business is it of yours what we do or don't-"

"Katniss, for God's sake, quit yelling," he orders, and before I can reply, he steps forward, his calloused hand finding my cheek quite suddenly. I don't have time to wonder what he's doing before his lips claim my own.

It's strange, tasting of stale whiskey, and more demanding than any of the kisses I shared with Peeta. But then, Gale has always had the more demanding personality of the two. My body seems to have frozen in shock from the suddenness of it all. It's a short kiss, only seconds before his lips pull away from mine, his breath coming short and ragged against my face as his eyes bore into mine.

"Because I love you, Katniss," he whispers roughly, "that is why I care."

Any words I might have said are lodged somewhere in the back of my throat as I stare up at Gale, completely and utterly bewildered by the turn this fight has taken. He breaks his gaze from mine after the silence goes on for what feels like forever, and he turns away from me.

"I'm sorry, Catnip," he mutters, a bitterness now present in his voice that wasn't there before. "I shouldn't have taken you off guard like that-"

"Gale, just-"

"Forget any of this happened, okay? I just needed to do that once," he says, reaching slowly for the door, "Just forget I said anything to you."

"Gale!" I call after him but he's already closing the door softly behind him and I know there's no use going after him. My mind is still struggling to keep up with everything that just happened and I would be of little use soothing him.

Why did he do that? How could Gale possibly feel that way about me? Did I miss his signs? Maybe I really am clueless when it comes to these types of things.  _Do_  I feel that way for him? Don't I simply love him as a best friend? To be honest I'm a little angry with Gale for kissing me. I have so many other problems that he knows I'm dealing with. Why would he give me one more?

By the time Prim wakes and joins me in the living room, I want nothing more than to listen to her chatter away for the rest of the day. I want anything that might make my mind stop racing with questions I can't actually answer.

…

There's no money left. I am forced to admit it to myself as I reach around under the mattress, hoping for a spare coin that might be able to buy us bread. There isn't anything to be found though. I lower the mattress back to the frame and lean my back against the frame as I sit, trying to ignore the tightening in my chest.

The rent is due in tomorrow and I don't even have money to pay for food. It hasn't slipped past my notice how dangerously thin Prim is getting and my ribs are sticking out almost as badly as they did just after Father passed. I let my head fall into my hands as I try to think of a way I could possibly earn enough money to make all of this go away.

I think about somehow stealing the money, just enough to get by on, but the punishment for stealing is prison and little Prim wouldn't be able to survive without my income. Some girls sell themselves as well, but I feel ill at the idea. There must be something,  _anything_ , besides that.

I look up and my eyes land on the small dresser across from me. Taking several deep breaths, I stand and decided to ransack it for whatever possessions we have that might sell for a few coins. I start with the bottom draw of the dresser- Prim's- and work my way to the top.

By the time I reach the last drawer, which happens to be mine, I have a handful of raggedy old baby clothes and a few empty glass bottles that my mother has saved from the days when her father used to sell tonics. They're pretty enough but I'm sure they won't bring in enough money to live off.

I open my drawer and pull out two dresses that I have been saving. They don't fit me anymore but I was keeping them for when Prim grew into them. I don't have the luxury of saving things now though. I am just replacing what cannot be spared in the drawer when a glint catches my eye.

Peeta's Christmas gift to me. The hair comb is easily worth enough to feed us, if not pay the backlogged rent. I pick up the delicately carved bone and it glitters in the late evening light. I don't want to sell it, but I know it is the only thing that might save us. Peeta's smile when he saw me wearing it two weeks ago flashes across my mind and I close my eyes tightly, hoping it might go away. Sentimentality is for the rich. Swallowing whatever feelings I have for a silly object, I gather everything I've scrounged up and head to the one shop I know will buy.

It's a seedy little place, the windows so grimy it looks as though they are fogged up. The storekeeper is a man with only about half of his teeth left and his gaze gives me the chills. He speaks a heavily accented, broken English, but I understand him well enough. I slide the baby clothing across the counter first. Perhaps I can get enough from everything else that I won't need to sell the comb.

The storekeeper shakes his head and pushes them back across the counter to me, "No. No good. Too old."

I sigh and put the bottles in front of him, the small glass forms clinking away musically. A grimy fingernail traces across his chin and a contemplative noise echoes in the back of his throat.

"A dime each," he tells me, his dark- nearly black- eyes waiting for my approval.

I nod and he quickly swipes the bottles off the counter into some abyss underneath where I will never see them again. Mother might be angry with me for taking her possessions without asking first but the money from them will feed us. A bit of glass for our lives is a fair exchange in my mind.

I place the two dresses, which I would have handed down to Prim, on the counter and the man looks over the seams critically. I half expect his grimy hands to leave a stain on the fabric but somehow they don't.

"Two dollars for both," he grunts. I want to tell him no, that an individual dress like that would easily cost three dollars, but I can't be picky now. We need to survive and survival isn't always about fairness.

I swallow and nod as he sets them on a basket full of other clothing.

"What about this?" I question, reluctantly sliding the hair comb that I've wrapped in a worn handkerchief towards him. We still need money for the rent and this is our last hope.

The storekeeper unfolds the fabric with an appreciative hum. It's not often something so fine is found in the Seam. He probably thinks I stole it from an upper-class woman and I don't really blame him. A Seam girl who is poor enough to be in a shop such as this one shouldn't have something so beautiful as this.

"Seven," he says, counting out the bills and placing them on the counter with a curious look. "No questions."

He waits until I nod reluctantly and pushes the bills to me before pocketing the comb he thinks is a stolen piece of art. My chest tightens as I watch his filthy hands on it but it's his now, I remind myself. I have no right to it now that I have seven dollars in my pocket.

The walk home is filled with mixed emotions. I am happy and more relaxed because the money I have in my pocket will feed us and cover the entire amount we owe to Mr. Holt. My heart throbs keenly in my bosom though because I am a seventeen-year-old girl who is selfish, and I didn't want to part with the first gift Peeta ever gave me.

It isn't the first gift though, I realize sometime before I arrive home. His first gift was the bread. His first gift was our lives. The hair comb was simply a sweet gesture. It was a gift of happiness, a happiness that he seems so intent to give me. And now that bit happiness has bought us time. It hasn't saved us like the bread did; there will still be more bills next month that we have no way of affording, but it has given us a month's time to figure something out.

This thought doesn't comfort me much though as I lay staring at the ceiling and trying to sleep that night. It's not fair that I should have to give up everything wonderful and beautiful just to survive. I'm not sure how I will ever tell Peeta what I've done with his Christmas gift to me. He will surely be disappointed, maybe even angry. I know that comb was worth much more than seven dollars, but it was the best I could expect under the circumstances. Maybe I'll be able to keep it all a secret from Peeta. The thought of disappointing him leaves a queasy feeling in my stomach that I'm not at all fond of.

I turn over and stare out the window to the half moon shining alongside the stars. Why did everything always have to be so complicated? I shouldn't need to worry about anything now that the rent has been paid, but I can't help but find new things to worry myself with.

…

A loud banging comes at the front door the several nights later, waking everyone from a sound sleep while the moon is on its decent through the sky. My mother throws her ratty dressing gown on and hurries to answer the door.

"Ms. Everdeen, you gotta come quick." I recognize Thom instantly. A cold feeling of dread washes over me. I haven't seen the man since his wedding several weeks ago but the worried look on his face instantly sets my nerves on edge.

"What is it Thom?" I ask, hurrying to the doorway, "What's happened?"

A flash of remorse crosses his face before he utters the two words I was fearing most, "It's Gale."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's that! Many of you are already aware, but I wanted to put an announcement here so no one misses it. I have decided to use my primary account on tumblr to post progress updates on ADAD. You can follow me there at therebelliondies dot tumblr dot com. Feel free to drop me a line and let me know that you're from AO3. I'd love to hear from you! As always, feel free to review and let me know what you thought of the chapter. I love hearing from you!


	7. Chapter 7

  _Katniss_

            I stand there, frozen with one hand still resting on the doorknob as my mind tries to process what Thom has just told us. He stares at me with such a remorseful gaze that my heart starts to hammer against my chest, wondering what horrible things might have happened. My mother hurries into action, returning to the bedroom to change before gathering her bag and other tinctures she thinks might be useful. Her sudden purpose brings my mind back and Prim helps me dress before I help her do the same.

            It’s only a handful of minutes later that we walk out into the cool night, Thom leading the way to The Hob where Gale was brought after- well after whatever happened.

            “How bad is he, Thom?” I ask, my greatest worry that Gale is lying on some filthy table bleeding to death.

            “He’s not good, Katniss, but I think he’ll pull though this with your mother’s help.” Thom gives a tight smile, trying his best to lighten the heavy mood hanging over us as we walk quickly down the deserted roads. 

            “Was it the fighting?” I question as rats scatter into the shadows at the sound of our approach. Thom looks surprised when I mention Gale’s prizefighting but he nods after a moment. Gale must not have told him I knew.

            “That new Chief of Police, Romulus Thread, raided the ring tonight.” He explains, sounding as though he’s still can’t believe it happened, as though anyone with half a brain wouldn’t have expected this. “The rest isn’t for a ladies ears.”

            “Don’t play coy with me, Thom.” I snap, “I’m no more fragile than any man you know.”

            He glances skeptically between my mother and me but apparently decides that my point is valid. “I don’t know how Thread found the location, but Gale was in the ring and got caught before he could run away. Thread took him into the streets and beat him as an example to everyone.”

            If I thought my blood was frozen before, it must be nonexistent now. A ringing starts in my ears as the edges of my vision go fuzzy. I hear Thom ask if I’m okay but I can’t answer, instead I grab his arm to hold me steady as I stop walking although my body continues to sway.

            Mother pushes my head down so I am forced to brace my hands against my knees and she tells me to breathe deeply. I do and surprisingly it does help. The blackness recedes and the ringing stops.

            “Better?” Mother asks shortly, in her most clipped healer voice.

            I nod but she frowns at me.

            “You’re still awfully pale, Katniss.” Prim’s worried voice says from beside my elbow.

            “I’m fine,” I argue stubbornly and begin walking again. “What else, Thom? Tell me everything.” I order. Thom hesitates but continues once I glare at him.

            “Thread left him for dead after, but that young officer- Darius- he snuck back around and stayed there to make sure someone found him. We were all watching though, hidden away.” He says, looking over his shoulder as though the memory makes him nervous, “I’ve never seen a man take a beating like that and he didn’t even lose consciousness. Poor man. It would have been better if he did.”

            The Hob’s lower windows are all brightly lit and as soon as we turn the corner, we can hear the ruckus of music and laughter from inside. Unlike when Rue was hurt, Haymitch hasn’t closed down The Hob for the night. Thom turns down the little side alley beside it though to take us around back where a staircase leads to the second floor. When we enter the narrow hallway, I can quite plainly hear the business transactions that are taking place behind several of the closed doors, but I duck my head in an attempt to ignore them.

            Thom fidgets nervously as well and I think if the lighting were better I would find that his cheeks are flushed red. He’s probably not all that fond of escorting two honest women and a child through such an establishment.

            “He’s in here.” Thom says, “The old man from downstairs is with him.”

            The man lying on the bed before us is hardly recognizable as my childhood best friend. His left eye is swollen shut and a horrendous shade of plum, which gives way to a light violet bruise rising on his cheekbone. His breathing is irregular and ragged. His nose is puffy and somewhat off kilter with enough blood smeared underneath it that I wonder how he could still be conscious, but I’m sure it was broken again. His bottom lip is split right down the middle, though it doesn’t seem to be swelling as much as his eye.

            I can’t bring myself to look at his bare chest, knowing that what I find might just make me faint as the ringing starts again in my ears. He’s alive. I continue to remind myself of this. He’s alive and he’s awake so it can’t really be that bad.

            “Gale.” I whisper, my voice an octave higher than normal.

            He takes a swig of whiskey from a tumbler that I assume Mr. Abernathy provided and winces as it stings the cut in his lip, “I’m okay, Catnip.” He assures me. His voice is tired, and doesn’t do much to allay my fears.

            Mother and Prim swoop in on him and do what they can, treating the cuts, of which there are several deep ones, and putting some sort of salve on the bruises that is supposed to numb the pain. Once all of his wounds have been treated, they wrap his chest to stabilize several bruised and broken ribs. I stand nearby the entire time, watching uselessly, cringing every time Gale breathes in sharply as they touch a tender area.

            “Gale, dear,” my mother says in her calm, even, healer’s voice, “we’ll need to set that hand as well.”

            Gale screws his eyes shut tightly, taking a long swig of whiskey. For the first time I notice the mangled mess of his right hand. It looks as though someone smashed the heel of his shoe into it and ground it against the pavement. A chill runs down my spine when I realize this is probably exactly what happened to the crumpled fingers. Gale nods stiffly in understanding and my mother holds out a worn old piece of leather from one of my father’s belts.

            Gale situates the strap between his teeth and mother starts working swiftly. His screams of pain chill my blood and I reach for his healthy hand, taking the tumbler from him and holding his hand tightly. When my mother sets the next finger, he squeezes my hand hard enough that I wonder if he hasn’t just broken my own knuckles.

            “Only two breaks.” Mother muses, more so for herself than the rest of us, “The rest are just dislocations. I’ll just splint these, and don’t go trying to move these fingers, Gale Hawthorne. They need time to heal.”

            Gale spits the leather out, “Will it be the same once it heals?”

            Mother gives him a sad, understanding look and shakes her head, “I don’t know. The odds are against it though, Gale. You’ll never be able to use that hand the same way again. It might just cause you pain or it might be clumsy now.”

            Gale screws his eyes shut again, this time from an entirely different pain, one that isn’t directly caused by his injuries, I suspect, and lets his head fall back to the pillows.

            “As for your other injuries, it’s the internal damage I’m most worried about. There could be bleeding we can’t see and it’s impossible to treat without major surgery.” Mother explains slowly.

            “So he still might not be alright?” I demand, my eyes widening at the thought.

            “I hope he will be, and the fact that he’s awake and thinking clearly is a good sign.” She replies softly, “We’ll just need to wait and see.”

            “I’ll be fine, Catnip.” Gale assures me with a gentle squeeze of my hand, “I give you a run for your money when it comes to being stubborn, and I want to come out of this just to rub it in that bastard Thread’s face.”

            He offers me a smile, but I can tell it hurts his face to do so and my stomach churns uncomfortably. Mr. Abernathy offers to put us up in a room for the night but my mother refuses, clearly flustered by the idea of staying in what is most clearly a bawdy house.

            “I’m staying here with him.” I say as she makes her way to the door with Prim once there is nothing more she can do, and Thom generously offers to walk them home.

            “I can’t leave him here alone. I’ll be home tomorrow.” I say firmly, leaving my mother no room to argue with me. She lost that privilege during the months that she spent in her stupor.

            She seems to realize this and nods silently before leaving me. I could almost laugh at the situation- an unmarried young woman in an upper room of a bawdy house with a beaten young man and an old drunk. If it weren’t for my raw nerves I might just make a joke about it to Gale but I can’t.

            Mr. Abernathy leaves and returns a moment later with another blanket that seems relatively clean and a fresh tumbler of whiskey.

            “You’re getting to be a regular fixture around here, Sweetheart.” He comments as he hands the two objects over to me. “That’s what happens when a girl has too much fire. She finds herself in all kinds of places less brave women wouldn’t go.”

            I’m not sure if he says it as a compliment or as an insult to my character so I take a deep sip of the whiskey, expecting the burn that accompanies it as the old man walks out the door. As the liquid reaches my stomach, it brings a warmth that seems to settle my nerves and stops the trembling of my hands.

            I pull a rickety wooden chair over to the bedside and sit, taking Gale’s unharmed hand in my own. I brush my fingers over the red, swollen knuckles of his fist and know that at least they have nothing to do with Thread’s punishment. I can’t imagine how his hands must hurt at work every day after he’s fought. Just looking at them sends my own knuckles throbbing.

            “Gale, I’m sorry!” I blurt out suddenly.

            He raises a dark eyebrow at me, “What are you sorry for, Catnip?” He asks in a dreamy voice and I wager that the glass of amber liquid in his hand isn’t the first one Mr. Abernathy gave him tonight.

            I hesitate. What exactly am I sorry for? Not for his current state, surely. It’s not as though this is my fault. I had even warned him that something like this might happen. But the words form themselves on my lips of their own accord, my heart knowing before my mind what exactly I regret.

            “I- I wasn’t speaking to you because of that silly disagreement and you could have-“ My voice breaks and I clear my throat, “You could have died tonight.”

            “Well, it’s not like I tried to talk to you either, Catnip. Call it a wounded man’s pride.” He says with an ironic smirk. It’s the same smirk he usually gives me when he wants to make me smile, but I can’t focus on anything besides his swollen, split lip.

            “You are my best friend, Gale.” I murmur, letting my fingers gingerly draw circles around a bruise on his wrist, surely from where an officer had restrained him while Thread pummeled him.

            “You’re my best friend too, Catnip.” He replies in a gentle tone, “Nothing will ever change that, not even Peeta Mellark.”

            “He’s truly not a bad man, Gale. I think he really does care for me.”

            He nods slowly, staring at my hand on his.

            “I believe you. He’d be a fool not to.” He says. I look up, expecting my eyes to find a joking grin on his face but don’t find one. He catches me staring and his lips pull up on one side, “I just wish I could be the one. I only trust myself to protect you, you know.”

            “Gale-“ I start, but I don’t really know what else to say.

            “It’s okay, Catnip. I’d rather be friends with you than lose everything.” He shrugs and then winces regretfully.

            “It’s not fair to you though.” I murmur sympathetically.

            “When has life ever been fair to either of us?” He questions and I don’t have an answer. We both know the ways of the world better than most people our age.

            “Besides,” he says after a moment, “I’m waiting for the day Mellark messes up and then I’ll beat him to a pulp for you.” Gale grins at his admission and splits his lip open again but he doesn’t seem to mind.

            I roll my eyes and hand him a cloth to hold there until the bleeding stops again.

            “And if he messes up tomorrow? I would love to see you fight him with broken ribs and fingers.” I chuckle and Gale continues to smile.

            “I don’t think Mellark has much fight in him. I might even be able to scare him off with a single look.” He states pompously and I laugh.

            “I’m glad I have you as a best friend, Gale. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

            “I assure you the feeling is mutual, Catnip.” He tells me, sounding sleepy. “I’m not going to pretend I like him, but I can wait.”

            I know I should tell him not to think like that, that I can never see myself kissing him like I kiss Peeta. I can’t bring myself to steal his hope though, not tonight when he’s in so much pain.

            Instead, we fall into silence for a long while. Gale’s eyes have been closed for so long that I think he’s probably fallen asleep, so I unfold the blanket Haymitch gave me and settle back in my seat to get some rest as well. I almost jump from my seat when his voice breaks the silence a few minutes later.

            “Do you ever think of just running away, Katniss?” Gale drawls in a slow voice, his eyes are still shut and I wonder if he even realizes he’s speaking out loud.

            “Do you ever think of just taking the clothes on your back and setting out for somewhere else? Somewhere far away, maybe out in the countryside or out west.”

            “We could never do that, Gale. We have our families. I couldn’t leave Prim and I know you wouldn’t leave your family either.” I murmur, reaching to brush a bit of hair off his forehead.

            He gives a discontented huff, “We could take our families and I could work as a farmhand. I know I’d be able to do it.”

            I shake my head because we both know that a farmhand’s wages would never be able to support eight people. This plus the promise that his hand probably won’t ever work the same makes Gale’s dream sound like just that- a dream.

            “Gale, you know it would never work.” He frowns and I continue softly, “How do you think you would support both of our families working as a farmhand?”

            “Maybe it could, Katniss. I would take care of you.” He says drowsily, his grip on my hand loosening, “I would keep you safe. You know that, right?”

            “I know that, Gale. You’ve always been looking out for me. Now, no more. You need to rest. I will be here when you wake up.”

            He doesn’t argue and quickly falls asleep, snoring heavily as he does. As I settle back in my chair, suddenly exhausted from the events of the night, I can’t help but wish that Gale’s dream were possible. What I wouldn’t give to leave this godforsaken city to live out in the countryside where the air is clean and workers aren’t shut away in dark, noisy factories all day.

 

            The squeaking hinges of the door wake me the next morning once the sun is already high in the sky. It’s another beautiful, warm day in early May. I turn my head to look at the source of the sound and see Rue carrying a tray full of breakfast into the room.

            “Hello, Katniss.” She murmurs softly so as not to wake Gale from his heavy slumber.

            “Rue, it’s so wonderful to see you. How have you been?” I reply just as quietly, smiling at the young girl that I haven’t seen for months- not since that night spent downstairs hoping she’d make it to morning.

            She looks just as I remember, although the tired look is gone from her face and she seems younger than she did while working in the factory. Working at The Hob has treated her well from the look of things.

            “I’m very well, thank you.” She replies with a smile of her own, “Sae has been so good to me since I started working here again. How are you, Katniss?”

            She looks worriedly between Gale and I, letting her gaze linger over my cheekbones, which I know are more prominent since she last saw me. There are probably deep blue circles under my eyes as well since it feel as though I hardly slept last night.

            “I’m doing fine, Rue.” I say simply. It wouldn’t be kind to burden the poor girl with my troubles beside her own.

            “Is he courting you?” She asks, nodding to the bed beside me, “He’s quite handsome.”

            I shake my head, “No, we’re old friends.”

            She nods her understanding and turns her head when a door further down the hallway opens and closes softly.

            “I should be getting back. The girls will be waking up and wanting breakfast.” She says with half a smile and a roll of her eyes.

            I stand quickly before she leaves and gather her into my arms. She’s stiff at first, clearly surprised by the contact, but relaxes after a moment and wraps her arms around my waist just as tightly as my arms are around her.

            “You take care, Rue.” I murmur and she nods against my bosom.

            “You too, Katniss.”

            I shoot her a smile as she quickly disappears through the doorway leaving me alone again. It’s then I notice that Gale’s quiet snoring has ceased. I turn to see his grey eyes watching me, the swelling having gone down enough in his left eye that he can crack it open just a bit.

            “That’s the little girl you saved?” He nods stiffly towards the door, I suppose his entire body feels like it’s made of stone today after taking a beating like he did.

            I nod and move the tray closer to him so he can eat. He digs in ravenously. Mr. Abernathy, it seems, bought eggs for the occasion again as Sae has settled two separate plates of them on the tray.

            “She’s a bit like Prim.” He mumbles through a mouthful of food.

            A smile pulls at my lips as a bit of bread hangs from the side of his mouth, “If you eat any faster, you’ll choke.”

            Hazelle is forever reprimanding the boys for eating too quickly. He snorts, shaking his head at me with an amused smile, but seems to take my warning to heart, settling for a drink of water instead before resuming to eat more slowly, though only just.

            “And she is like Prim.” I add, “That’s why I first became friends with her. She made working in the factory more bearable for the first few days. I hated it there.” I say with a cringe.

            “It must be harder for women, working in factories like that.” He says. His eyes darken as he mulls it over, staring at the half eaten bread in his hands, “It’s a man’s labor that they’re making women do. It’s not right.”

            I roll my eyes, “And why should it matter if it’s a man or a woman doing it? It’s awful, dangerous work no matter who does it.”

            “You’re probably right,” he admits far too easily. Gale never lets me win an argument that easily, but then I notice the mischievous spark in his eye, and I know he’s not finished, “Anyway you’re the least womanly woman I’ve ever met. If you cut your hair off and stole my clothes, no one would guess you were a girl.”

            I laugh at this and push his arm playfully, forgetting his injuries until he winces. Serves him right though for saying such rude things, though I can’t deny that he’s probably correct. I’m far from the delicate lady my mother would have hoped for. Mother always said it was because father let me run wild as a young girl. He never made me hurry home to help her with the household chores like a good lady should, instead allowing me to play ball in the street with the other children until the sun went down. He didn’t make me attend tea with my mother on the rare occasion that she attended one, offering to take me to the small park a few blocks away where we would chase one another through the trees.

            Thinking of this reminds me just how much I miss my father. Sure he would have been able to solve all the big problems we’ve been having, but it’s the little things, like our afternoons spent together, that I miss even more. I miss the smile he would give me when I would when say something brash to Gale that would embarrass my mother. I miss his laugh every time I stumbled on that uneven stair leading to the third floor of our apartment building. I would do anything to have him back.

            “Where’d you go, Catnip?” Gale asks, noticing the absence of my mind.

            I blink a few times a smile a bit, “I was thinking about father and how much I miss him. He never minded when I acted more like a boy than a girl.”

            “I remember.” Gale chuckles before his laughter gives way to a heavy sigh.

            “Anyway, I don’t think anyone would believe me if I walked in wearing your clothes, Gale. They’d think I was some fairy that stole a man’s clothes after I lured him into the forest for his soul. I’d be lucky if I could even keep your pants from falling down.” I lose my composure at the thought of me walking around in clothes much too big for myself, laughing loudly at the thought. It would certainly cause a shock among onlookers, to be sure.

            Gale shakes his head with a grin but doesn’t say anything more as he shovels more food into his mouth. Despite his injuries, I find myself enjoying our lazy morning together. We banter back and fourth while we stuff ourselves full of the food Haymitch bought and I realize how much I’ve missed spending time with Gale. It’s not something we get much opportunity for anymore with him still working in the factory- or at least he was. I doubt he still has the job now that he’s missed a day of work. It is Thursday after all and when he didn’t show up for his morning shift they probably pulled some man off the streets to fill his place.

            “Thursday!” I say in a shocked whisper when my mind connects the word with a promise. I stand from my chair so quickly it falls over, cracking loudly against the ground.

            “What?” Gale mumbles through a mouthful of eggs, looking up at me with wide eyes.

            “It’s Thursday!” I repeat as if that explains everything. Gale looks at me curiously, as though I’ve grown a second head, but he doesn’t stop chewing as he cocks an eyebrow for me to explain.

            “I promised Peeta I would meet him at the Art Institute today.” I explain and look to the sun outside. It must be late afternoon already. There’s no way I could make it there to meet him.

            “The Art Institute,” Gale snorts into his plate, “La-dee-da.”

            “Gale.” I warn but he just chuckles and shakes his head.

            “It will take forever to get there from here.” He points out obviously.

            “I know!” I snap, “Just stay here.” I hurry out of the room but hear him call after me through the door.

            “I don’t think I’m going anywhere, Katniss.”

            Sae is still cleaning up from the lunch rush when I walk into the front room of the saloon. I catch her attention and she frowns at the frantic look I give her.

            “What’s eating you, child?” She asks from over her shoulder as she dumps several bowls into the sink to be washed by Rue.

            “I need to get a message to someone. I’ve forgotten I had an engagement this afternoon and I wont be able to make it now.”

            “There’s a page boy, lives just around the corner who comes in here every day after the rush.” Sae informs me with a hand on her hip, “Unless you want to pay for a telegraph.”

            “Oh no!” I say imagining how expensive it would be even for the shortest message. “The page boy will do.”

            Sae nods, “He should be here any minute.”

            Sae’s word is proven correct not ten minutes later when a boy in his early adolescence walks through the door with a crooked smile.

            “Anthony, Miss Katniss here has a job to ask of you.” Sae points a thumb in my direction.

            The boy eyes me curiously but nods, “What are you needing me for, Miss?”

            I quickly explain the situation, that I need him to find a boy named Carl to give the message to. The boy agrees that it shouldn’t be a problem and I beg a pen and paper from Sae, hastily scribbling two notes. The first is a message for Carl explaining that he must find Mr. Mellark and the second is a message to Peeta sending my apologies for missing our rendezvous. It might be simpler just to send Anthony to Peeta but I know Carl will find him no matter where he is right now. The young boy seems to have sixth sense about Peeta’s whereabouts even when he’s not at the Mellark’s mansion, which I expect he might not be, the hour being so near to when we had arranged to meet.

            I send Anthony off with the few coins I have and slump down carelessly into the nearest chair. Guilt assaults my mind as I remember that Peeta planned to send a hansom cab to fetch me. Not only have I stood the poor man up but I’ve also wasted his money. I only hope he understands that it was not intentional and that he isn’t angry with me for my forgetfulness.

 

…

 

            “Peeta!” The excitement in my voice surprises me just as much as the man waiting at the front door of my apartment when I arrive home from The Hob.

            I left Gale and Haymitch there, arguing about the best way to drag the younger man back to Hazelle’s doorstep. Gale’s left leg was severely bruised and when he tried to stand, he discovered he could hardly bare to put weight on it. Haymitch assured me that it wouldn’t be a problem when he came into the room and tossed a crutch at Gale, but Gale swore he wasn’t going to use it like some ‘gimp.’ I had backed out of the room, knowing I would be of little use in moving Gale’s heavy form anyway.

            Now, Peeta straightens up from where he was leaning against the wall, a leather folio of some sort in his hands.

            “Katniss.” He replies with a smile that lights up his entire face, his blue eyes shining. “I hope you don’t mind my showing up unexpectedly at your doorstep, but when I received word that you couldn’t make it to the Art Institute, I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

            “I am quite well; a bit tired is all.” I tell him as I unlock the door to the apartment. This is partially a lie. I was exhausted during the walk home from The Hob but as soon as I saw Peeta standing next to my door, my body seemed rejuvenated. Suddenly, my mind is buzzing, my heart is speeding up, and my hands are itching to tangle in those blonde curls again. I turn around and smile when I see the concerned look he is giving me, “I’m glad you came. I was worried you might be angry that I couldn’t make it.”

            I step past him and inside the apartment, which is unusually silent this afternoon, as everyone happens to be out running errands or working. Peeta glances around as I stand, awkwardly wringing my hands against one another as I wait for him to say something.

            “Is anyone else home?” He questions offhandedly as he fingers an old blanket hanging on the back of our sofa, but his eyes have that familiar dark look in them again. My belly tightens when his eyes meet mine.

            “No.” I mouth, my voice suddenly escaping me.

            Peeta lets go of the blanket and crosses the room in two strides, closing space between us and gathering me in his arms before his lips meet mine. It feels so impossibly good, releasing liquid fire in my veins and making me forget everything except him, an amazing feat considering everything that has been happening. My heartbeat pounds so loudly in my ears I wouldn’t be surprised if Peeta can hear it.

            My hand slides over his chest and finds the pulse in his neck. I nearly laugh when I feel how quickly it is beating, almost as fast as my own. His tongue brushes over my bottom lip, causing my insides to flutter in anticipation because this time I know what is coming. Knowing what to expect doesn’t stop the lustful sigh from escaping me though.

            Peeta jumps away from me like he’s just touched a hot coal when the door squeaks open and Iris walks in. She glances curiously between the two of us and raises an eyebrow as she shuffles into the apartment with little Stella balanced on one hip.

            I brush a hand nervously over my hair where I know Peeta’s fingers dug themselves into the single braid I wear. Iris isn’t stupid and my cheeks and lips must be flushed red, but I hope it at least makes me look a bit more presentable.

            “Iris, this is Peeta. Peeta this is Iris, one of the other renters.” I introduce awkwardly.

            Peeta, for his part, doesn’t seem nearly as frazzled as he steps forward to greet Iris.

            “’eet is very nice to meet ‘ou, Peeta.” Iris offers pleasantly.

            Peeta beams at her, “You as well, madame. And who is this lovely little lady?” He asks, waving playfully at Stella who coos happily at him with a gurgle.

            “This ees Stella.” Iris says proudly, bouncing the little girl on her hip gently.

            “Such a beautiful little girl.” Peeta smiles, “It’s nice to meet you as well, Miss Stella.”

            Iris smiles brightly at Peeta and I know, even with only these few words, he’s worked his charm on her as well. I cover the smile tugging at my lips with my hand in hopes that neither will notice my obvious amusement.

            “I was just visiting Katniss in hopes that she might allow me to sketch her again, but…” He trails off with a pensive look and Iris bites.

            “Yes?”

            “Perhaps you would allow me to draw your beautiful daughter.” Iris gives him a skeptical look, but Peeta doesn’t seem at all bothered by this as he continues, “I’m no professional, but I do appreciate practice with different subjects and I have never had the opportunity to draw such a beautiful child before.”

            Iris glances to me and I notice the dark circles under her eyes. Stella has been teething for the last few days. Her cries have woken me up more than once in the night and I know Iris has been up with her to the point of exhaustion.

            “You should rest. I can watch after her.” I assure the older woman and she breaks into a grateful smile.

            “Thank ‘ou, Katniss.” She turns to face Peeta, “And ‘ou too.”

            “It is my pleasure, madame.” Peeta assures her as she places Stella into my arms before finding sanctuary in her room.

            Once the door is safely shut, Peeta turns to look at me again. His eyes shift between me and little Stella, who is cooing to herself quietly. He breaks into a warm smile that crinkles the corner of his eyes and I blush. Something about the way he looks at me always makes me feel so transparent, as though he can read me like an open book. Which would be fine, except for the fact that I have so many secrets I want to keep.

            “Have you ever heard of Mary Cassatt, Katniss?” He questions as he crosses the short distance between us.

            I shake my head, shifting Stella on my hip.

            “She has painted some amazing works of mothers with children.” He nods at the scene before him, “You remind me of them.”

            “I’m not her mother.” I point out quietly and he chuckles.

            “I know that. But the way you look at her- it reminds me of the mothers in the paintings.” He grabs the leather folio from the couch, which I now realize probably contains sketches. “You are unusually protective of people, do you know that?”

            I frown, “I protect those who need to be protected, and anyway you hardly know me, Peeta.”

            He nods and shrugs, “I probably know more than you think. I spent a lot of time observing you in class when I should have been paying attention to our lessons.”

            He grins boyishly and I can’t help but laugh at him. Stella squawks delightedly, wanting to be a part of whatever is going on. Her wide brown eyes blink slowly as she stares up at me. I lean forward and place a quick peck on her nose that leaves her giggling contentedly.

            “Will you let me draw the two of you?” Peeta asks.

            My eyes snap to his in surprise, “I thought you wanted to draw Stella.”

            “I do. But I also would like to draw you.” He smiles gently in that sweet, genuine way that I am learning is so completely Peeta. “If you would allow me to, that is.” He adds and I can feel my reserve melt away.

            “Of course.” I nod slowly before looking around, “What do you need me to do?”

            He grins and sets his sketch folder down before pulling a chair from the dining table over toward the single window in the room. Bright afternoon light is pouring in and Peeta settles the chair directly in it. He claps his hands together excitedly before looking back to me.

            “Just get comfortable. Don’t worry about sitting still for this one.” Peeta informs me as he takes a seat on the sofa.

            I settle down on the rickety old chair and sit Stella in my lap. Immediately she turns toward me and reaches up to grab at my cheeks with her sticky little fingers. I tickle at her sides and she squeals happily. Seconds later, Peeta’s pencil is scratching swiftly over the paper, a soothing sound when combined with the warmth of the light filtering through the window.

            I close my eyes and Stella seems to agree with me, sighing softly as she settles against my bosom. My lips curl into a smile when she makes small smacking noises as she nestles more closely to me. Opening my eyes, I reach to brush her dark curls back from her forehead. She truly is a sweet child when she isn’t miserable with teething and she reminds me a bit of Prim, though they couldn’t be more different in appearance.

            Some nights, when mother was unbearably tired, father would come home and send her straight to bed, staying up with me and baby Prim until bedtime. He would let me hold her, settling me on the couch and handing her gently to me. Mother was always afraid I might drop her, being only a small child myself, but father said I couldn’t do any harm so long as I sat very still.

            Prim would nuzzle into me then and we would occasionally doze off together even if she had been fussy all day. Father always told me that I had a special gift when it came to Prim.

            “You’ll make good mother one day.” The blonde haired boy murmurs softly from over his work. He glances up and his blue eyes pierce right into me as though he is trying to say more than what the words mean. He looks back down to his work and the scratching resumes.

            I shake my head, though he isn’t looking at me, “I will never have children.”

            He looks up in surprise and chuckles, “Surely you don’t mean that. You might not have them now but you will one day.”

            “No.” I reply resolutely, “I don’t ever plan to marry or have children.”

            He stops his work and sets his pencil down with a frown.

            “Why not?”

            “Look at where we are, Peeta.” I scoff, nodding my head to gesture around the room, “I would never bring a child into this. It is cruel.”

            “You can’t honestly think that, Katniss.” He argues gently, leaning an elbow on his knee and fixing those piercing eyes on me with an intensity I have never seen before, “Look at you and Prim. You-“

            “Have struggled every moment since my father died.” I finish for him. I don’t know what he was planning to say, but he couldn’t possibly know what our lives have been like. He only spoke to me for the first time a year ago, during one of the darkest days of my life.

            “There are no guarantees in this life, Peeta.” I explain quietly, looking down to the tiny girl in my arms, the odds already stacked against her just because she was born in the Seam. I think of Gale who is probably at home healing in bed after simply trying to support his family. “I won’t bring a child into this world. I couldn’t stand to see my child suffer like we do.”

            Peeta watches me, a look of disappointment clear on his face. I’m not sure what to make of it so I look away to the little girl resting in my lap. The scratching of pencil on paper starts again and there is a long pause of silence between us.

            “Your child might not be born in the Seam you know.” He murmurs and I look up at him with a frown but he continues never looking up from his work, “Your husband might take you away from here. Somewhere nice. Somewhere you deserve.”

            A furrow forms on my brow as my heart flutters nervously at his words. I don’t know why Peeta is saying this to me. I just told him I would never have children. What man would want to marry a woman who has no intention of bearing children?

            Against my better judgment, I play along, “And where might he take me?”

            Peeta shrugs as he continues scratching away at his paper, “I’m not sure. Somewhere more open than the city. Somewhere where the air is clean. I think you would like the cottage where my father spends most of his time. There are wide, open fields and old forests.”

            “It sounds lovely.” I agree, “But I’ll never see a place like that, Peeta. My family needs me here. I could never leave them.”

            He nods slowly, but it’s impossible to miss the tension in his shoulders. Silence settles between us again and no words are spoken until he sets down his pencil nearly a half an hour later.

            His blue eyes are darker than usual when he looks up again, “You deserve so much more than this, Katniss.”

            “This is my life, Peeta. It doesn’t matter what I deserve, this is what I have.” I smile halfheartedly hoping to relieve some of the tension radiating off of him.

            “I could give you more.” He murmurs so quietly I’m not sure I heard him over the sudden whooshing noise of blood pulsing through my ears, “I want to give you more.”

            “Peeta, you are talking nonsense. We hardly know one another.” I shake my head.

            “I know.” He smiles wryly, his gaze finally meeting my own, and I see that he understands, “I do. I just- I wish you didn’t have to live like this, Katniss. You are so beautiful.”

            “It’s not all bad, Peeta.” I assure him, “And I don’t think beauty determines how much wealth one is worthy of.” I try to joke but it falls heavily between us.

            “I don’t mean physically, Katniss.” He corrects, “Of course, you are beautiful physically, my God, you are. But you have a beautiful soul as well. You love so fiercely. It’s so plain to see. No one who gives themselves so selflessly to others should be destitute for the entirety of her life.”

            His last words stab just a bit but he’s correct. I know I will live in the Seam until the day I die, whether Peeta thinks it’s fair or not. It is a rare soul who makes it out, climbing the social ladder to marry the owner of a small business, usually then only because he is somehow undesirable to those of his own class. This is why I swore I would never have children. No child should have their fate determined for them before they are ever born.

            “Can I see it?” I nod toward the paper in front of him desperately trying to change the subject, to move the focus away from talk of my future.

            “Of course.”

            He crosses the room and holds the paper out for me to take. A surprised sound escapes me as he takes Stella from my arms so I can get a better look at the drawing in my hands. It’s fantastic. He has only spent such a short time today sketching it but already there is so much detail put onto paper. There is also something more there- something special, I realize- something that makes the emotion of the picture shine through. I know nothing about art, having only Peeta’s work to go by, but I think it might be sign of a great artist that he can portray emotion through the lines on the paper.

            “It’s wonderful, Peeta.” I murmur, tracing my fingers over Stella’s round little cheeks and the sleepy look on her face. When my eyes glance over my own face, I see he has once again drawn me more beautiful than I am in reality.

            “Why do you always draw me like this?” I question before I am able to stop myself. When I look up, he has an incredulous look on his face.

            “What do you mean? That’s how you look, Katniss.” He replies.

            “No I don’t.” I chuckle lightly, “I’m not this beautiful. Who have you modeled me off of?” I inquire, aware that some artists draw all their subjects with one specific person in mind.

            “You.” He whispers, “Only you. I told you, you are stunning, Katniss, inside and out.”

            His lips brush against my forehead and I look up to that same, familiar dark look. He lowers his mouth to mine, my lips tangling softly with his. This is becoming far too natural an occurrence between us. I know how his lips will move before they do, and somehow I know that it is not appropriate knowledge for a lady to have.

            Stella begins to fuss and I separate from Peeta. Returning the young girl to her mother to feed. Once I’ve walk back into the living room, Peeta has stowed away his drawing and is sitting on the sofa with the leather folder balanced on his lap.

            He stands when he notices me and smiles, “I am very glad you allowed me to draw you again today.”

            “You have some practice to do, Mr. Mellark.” I tease, “I swear that girl looks nothing like me.”

            Peeta chuckles, “I assure you, she looks identical to you. That is why she is my favorite subject to draw.”

            I roll my eyes as his hands find my waist, spreading flat against the fabric there. His thumb roams upward and I have half a mind to stop him as I lean towards his lips. They find mine, and the fire charges through my veins again as I curl my fingers into his hair, tangling them there.

            He pulls my bottom lip between his own, nibbling and sucking gently, sending heat flowing down to pool between my thighs and sending shivers through my body. I whimper against his mouth, arching towards him as impossibly wonderful feelings surge through my body, wanting more of him.

            Peeta takes my reaction as permission to further explore and his hands brush lightly over the worn fabric of my dress, migrating higher than they ever have before. He pulls away quite suddenly though, just enough so that our noses still touch, gasping at each other’s breath. I lean towards him but he leans away, a pained look crossing his features, and immediately I feel the sharp bite of rejection. It’s a surprise that he can do this to me so easily. I try not to scowl as I look up into his bright blue eyes, trying to understand what I’ve done to disgust him enough that he’s pushing me away now.

            “Your ribs, Katniss.” Peeta whispers softly, those blue eyes boring into me, melting my soul as tears of frustration prickle at the back of my eyes.

            Of course, he would find it repulsive that he can feel each individual dip where my ribs are. How many times have I let my fingers dig into the fragile skin there, ashamed and disgusted by their appearance? My cheeks blush with the shame of it and I try to push him away, but his hands grip my waist firmly, holding me at an arm’s length. I glance up at him and that he’s looking at me with alarm, a foreign look on his usually worry-free face.

            “How long have you been struggling?” He asks just louder than a whisper.

            “Everything is fine-“

            “It’s not fine!” He spits with more venom than I ever thought sweet, gentle Peeta Mellark was capable of. He is angry, that much is easy to see, and though I’m not sure if he’s angry at me for not telling him about this or at the world for the way it is.

            “It’s not fine.” He repeats firmly, “You’re starving again, Katniss. I noticed how thin you were at the fair. I’ve just been so caught up. I didn’t realize how bad it was. How long has this been happening?”

            His hands grip my sides almost painfully as his eyes search my face for some answer. I shrug.

            “A while.” I admit softly, “We’ll be fine though, Peeta. You don’t need to worry about us. I will figure something out. Prim is alright for now, I just need to figure it all out.”

            “Figure what out, Katniss? Is the pay from the factory not enough?” He asks, apparently genuinely confused as to how I’ve gotten myself into this mess again.

            I stare blankly at him. I always thought he realized that I was no longer working at the factory. How else did he think I would have the time to meet him at all of our rendezvous around the city?

            “Peeta, I haven’t had work at the factory for months now.” I admit softly, “I thought you knew that. I thought your mother would have mentioned it as well. It was quite a scandal-“

            “What happened? What scandal?” He questions, a deep crease forming across his brow.

            “I was fired for helping a negro worker after she was severely injured by one of the machines.” I explain, fingers tugging nervously at the end of my braid. I don’t actually know what Peeta’s views are regarding a person’s race and how they should be treated.

            “Why would you be fired for that?” Peeta demands, the tips of his ears turning pink, “If you saved that girl, why would you be punished?”

            “I was punished because I left my station to find someone who could help the poor girl. I was fired because I refused to let a negro girl die right in front of me.” I can’t keep the bitter note from my tone and Peeta’s eyes widen as he processes what I’ve just said.

            “My mother- she couldn’t possibly know about this-“ He stutters, a hand pulling roughly through his hair as though trying to pull coherent thoughts to the surface of his mind.

            “I assure you she most certainly does, Peeta.” I say meekly, ducking my gaze to stare at a loose thread in the bodice of my dress. “She’s made certain that I am blacklisted from every other factory in the city.”

            His face seems to shatter right before my eyes as he shakes his head furiously.

            “No. No, Katniss, she’s awful but she would never do that to you.”

            “I don’t think it mattered to her who it was,” I shrug helplessly, “but it was a good opportunity for her to make an example of what happens to workers when they go against what their employers say.”

            His thumbs brush gently over the ridges of my ribcage and he seems to choke. His eyes are glassy when he looks up at me again.

            “I am so sorry, Katniss. I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner. I’m sorry that my mother has done this. I’ll make it right. I promise you that-“

            “It won’t do any good, Peeta.” I cut in, cupping his face with my hands, willing him to understand that none of this was his fault. I can tell by the look on his face that he thinks it is and it breaks my heart to think he blames himself, “Once a person’s name is on the blacklist, it never gets off.”

            “I should never have sent you to work at my mother’s factory.” He laments, leaning against my touch and screwing his eyes shut tightly. “How bad is it, Katniss? How much are you struggling?”

            I shake my head and purse my lips, unwilling to pour this burden onto him. I realize now just how innocent Peeta is to the ways of this city. I’ve already disillusioned him enough for one day. I regret telling him what his mother has done, surprised by his horrified reaction.

            “Tell me.” He begs, his fingers caressing my sides, leaving tingling trails in their wake, “Please, Katniss.”

            “I sold the hair comb you gave me, Peeta.” I confess, barely louder than a whisper, “It was the only way we could afford the rent.”

            I lift my gaze hesitantly to meet his, waiting for anger to cloud over the bright blue eyes I adore, but it never does. Instead he lets out a shaky sigh and lets his forehead fall against mine, pulling me closer to him as he wraps his arms more tightly around my waist.

            “Oh, Katniss.” He says softly.

            “Please don’t be angry, Peeta.” I beg, “I tried to make the money elsewhere, but there wasn’t enough. I hated selling it, truly I did. It was such a beautiful gift-“

            His lips press lightly to my own, effectively silencing my worries.

            “Don’t apologize,” he murmurs against my lips, “It was your gift to do with as you pleased, but why didn’t you tell me you need help, Katniss? You know I would.”

            “It’s too much to ask of anyone.” I answer simply, “I’ll do whatever it takes to take care of my family.”

            “You shouldn’t have to do this, Katniss. You shouldn’t have to!” He argues fervently, running a hand over my hair and closing his eyes briefly. When he opens them again, there is so much concern there that it nearly breaks my heart. “I could take you away from this- from all of it- you and your family.”

            “Peeta, stop it.” I order, pulling away from him. “Listen to yourself. What you are saying is complete nonsense. You could never do it.” He frowns deeply at my words, clearly aggravated that I’m refusing his help when I could obviously use it.

            “And why not?” He demands heatedly.

            “Because you are Peeta Mellark!” I blurt out, my tone clipped, trying desperately to make him understand, “You are an industry heir- one of the wealthiest men in the city. Your family would never allow you to run off with some Seam trash-“

            “Don’t call yourself that!” He spits angrily, reaching for my hand.

            I yank away from his grip, “It’s what I am, Peeta! You can pretend to ignore it all you want but it doesn’t change who I am! I belong here. I will always be Seam. You can’t save me from that, Peeta, not you nor your money.”

            “I’m not trying to change you, Katniss. I want to save you from starving to death! I could if you would let someone help you for once; if you would let me help you.” He pleads, the pain clear in his gaze.

            I want him to help me. I do. How long have I wished that there were someone there to share the burden of this responsibility I have to keep my family afloat? But there is nothing he can do for me. I know this and, deep down, Peeta knows it too.

            “They would disown you.” I say bitterly, not towards him but towards the way things are.

            “Then let them!” He retorts, gathering me to his chest again and I don’t have the energy to fight him off.

            “And where would that leave us?” I demand, my words muffled by his starched shirt, but I know he hears me. “We would be destitute and there would be one more new member of the Seam.”

            Peeta doesn’t argue because we both know that what I’ve said is true. Peeta has always had his family’s money to take care of him and without that his future would be more than uncertain. He’s never been raised to do manual labor like Gale and the other Seam boys have.

            I shake my head slowly, “You should go. Mother will be home any time now.”

            “Katniss…”

            “Don’t worry about me, Peeta. I am fine. We’re just in a rough spot right now. It will work out though.” Somehow my voice sounds more convinced than I feel when I say this.

            He sighs heavily, clearly not pleased at my refusal to let him sweep me away from the streets of the Seam, but he doesn’t argue further.

            “Will you allow me to see you again?” He asks hopefully.

            “Of course, Peeta.” I say softly. He gives a gentle smile and presses a kiss to my cheek before turning to leave.

            “You will inform me if things become desperate, Katniss, won’t you? You’ll not let yourselves starve?” He asks worriedly over his shoulder.

            “If there is no other choice, I will.” I assure him.

…

 

_Peeta_

 

            “Peeta?” Bryn knocks softly on the doorframe before walking into the suit. Peeta is at his desk, bent over a news article about the streetcar workers in St. Louis preparing to strike.

            “Yes, dad?” He says turning his gaze to the impressive form of Bryn Mellark.

            “Your mother has invited Rosalind to dine with us tonight. She expects you to be in your nicest dinner jacket.”

            Peeta nods, finding it unusual that his mother would only invite Glenn’s beau, “Why has she invited Rosalind? Are there others coming as well?”

            “Not tonight, Peet.” His father says with a wistful smile, “I think her intentions will be clarified during dinner. Your brothers will both be attending as well.”

            Peeta observes his father for a moment and realizes he has a good idea of what tonight is about, but he doesn’t say anything more about it. Best just to wait and see what it’s all about than to start speculating with his father, whom he is quite sure knows a bit more than he’s letting on.

            “What’s that you were reading just now?” Bryn asks curiously as he glances down at the glaring headline of the Chicago Tribune.

            “Just a piece about the streetcar workers down in St. Louis.”

            “Ah.” Bryn nods, having read up on the story during breakfast just this morning, “Nasty business.”

            “How could Mr. Whitaker let it get this far?” Peeta questions, though it’s more of a rhetorical one than one in which he is seeking an actual answer.

            “Business breeds greed in some, Peet.” He shrugs as he makes to leave the room, “We can only hope it doesn’t come to a strike in our own factories.”

            Peeta knows that his father is speaking of Adelaide’s textile mills rather than his own grain mills out in the country. Bryn Mellark does his best to treat his employees with compassion, something that is nearly unheard of in many of the factories across the country, especially those inside the city. This mentality cultivates a strong loyalty among his employees. After learning about what happened to Katniss at his mother’s factory, Peeta thinks that his father’s concern isn’t too far off.

            The grandfather clock in the foyer downstairs rings six o’clock and Peeta heaves a sigh before casting the Tribune aside and standing. He’ll need to wash before dressing for dinner and he knows it would be better to be found drowned in the bathtub than come to Adelaide Mellark’s dinner late.

…

            “Everyone.” Glenn calls from across the room where Rosalind stands with her arm through his, smiling contentedly up at him.

            Peeta can’t help but think they’re a smart pair. While Glenn always appears aloof and rather unnoticeable in terms of looks, Rosalind’s appearance is difficult not to notice. She lights up a room just by walking into it. Her red hair contrasts starkly with Glenn’s blonde locks and it seems to burn under the soft lights of the room. She had once mentioned to Peeta how much she disliked her hair because it made her stick out. She didn’t want to be noticed- at least not for her “abominable carrot hair.” Peeta found it quite lovely though, especially framing her pale, heart shaped face. She also hates the freckles that dust her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, but Peeta had once accidently overheard Glenn reminding her how much he likes them.

            Peeta and Axel look up from their chess game and give one another a knowing look. They both have their suspicions about what tonight is all about. Adelaide and Bryn both turn to face the younger couple as well, stopping what was becoming a rather heated conversation about shipment schedules and pay cuts that Peeta was only half paying attention to. The servants that dot the spacious sitting room freeze as well, looking slightly inconvenienced to have ceased their work for the moment.

            “Mother and Father are already aware, but I wanted to announce it for Peeta and Axel tonight before we sit for dinner.” Glenn turns to his two younger brothers with his lips curved in what is as close as he ever gets to a genuine smile, “Last night I received Mr. Andrew’s blessing to marry Rose and I am pleased to announce that she accepted my proposal this afternoon.”

            Axel stands immediately, followed by Peeta and they cross the room to politely shake Glenn’s hand in congratulations. Axel waits until their mother is turned away to clap his older brother firmly on the back.

            “Congratulations, Glenn. Not too long now and you’ll be able to show her that the rumor about the Mellark men is true.” He grins wickedly but Rosalind doesn’t catch onto the joke right away and smiles curiously at the prospect of a secret.

            “What rumor might that be, Axel?” She asks softly, her voice wispy as though she hasn’t a care in the world. Peeta knows that this is misleading however.

            Rosalind Andrews, soon to be Mellark now, is as sharp as a whip; that’s why Glenn likes her as much as he does. She could give most men a run for their money as far as intellectual conversation goes; however, she’s also well-bred and knows better than to make a spectacle of her intelligence. Instead, she comes off as a pretty, well-mannered lady of little consequence. Glenn was lucky to have found her among all the witless girls in the ballrooms of the city.

            “That uh- that,” Axel’s ears turn pink and he looks to the fine carpet before continuing, “that we are well endowed.”

            “Axe.” Glenn says in a warning tone.

            “Well endowed in what respect?” Rosalind asks with a tinkling laugh that set’s Axe’s cheeks aflame.

            “Nothing you should concern yourself with, dear.” Glenn shoots an irritated look at Axel, “It’s just Axel being the joker of the family as usual.”

            “Oh.” She smiles politely, but Peeta thinks she might have an inkling now as to what Axel really meant.

            Peeta steps forward and offers his hand to Glenn who takes it gratefully as the tension diffuses, “Congratulations to you both. I had my suspicions when dad told me Rose was joining us for dinner tonight and I’m glad they were correct.”

            “Thank you, Peeta.” Her smile reaches her dark eyes, “It will be lovely to have two such wonderful, new brothers.”

            “And we are overjoyed to be welcoming a new daughter.” Adelaide smiles warmly at the young woman before her, having snuck up on the group of young adults to offer her congratulations. Peeta doesn’t recall the last time he saw her look so kind and genuine.

            “I had hoped that Peeta might be a little girl before he was born. He wasn’t of course, though, was he?” She mulls and Peeta’s cheeks flush as he lowers his gaze to the carpet. This is not new news of course. Peeta has heard this from his mother more than a few times growing up. It still burns of embarrassment though. How bad a son must he be for his mother to wish for a daughter instead of another son to carry on the family name? She still blames him from turning out to be a boy rather than a girl.

            Adelaide Mellark had been certain throughout the many weeks of her pregnancy that she was carrying a girl, something that she wanted desperately since she had a strong feeling this would be her last child. At tea, before she began her confinement, she would tell all the ladies that she was carrying high and everyone knows a high baby is a girl. She had wept when she gave birth to Peeta, a healthy, cherubic, baby boy; the third boy and one too many according to Adelaide.

            “Lucky that he was a natural born gentleman then.” Rosalind says sweetly, trying to diffuse the awkwardness that now blankets the room.

            “That we were.” Bryn agrees in an overly cheerful voice, “Our Peeta was a welcome relief after Axel’s antics. Even as a toddler the boy was giving me grey hairs.” Everyone chuckles because no one will deny that Axel and trouble have always come together hand in hand.

            “Dinner is served, Master Mellark.” The butler announces detachedly and the party proceeds to the dining room as Peeta tries to recover from his mother’s disdainful looks.

            “When were you thinking for a wedding date dear?” Adelaide asks over the main course, already well into dinner.

            “I was hoping to return home to St. Louis for the summer. I haven’t seen my parents in so long it would have been nice. But father sent word just the other day that I am not to go there so there will be no hindrance on planning the wedding.” She frowns at her plate before adding, “He is so worried about the streetcar workers and what might happen in the city if they do strike.”

            Adelaide lets out a sharp laugh, “All those men are foolish if you ask me. Nothing will come of it. You mark my word. They’ll make their way back to their work with their tails between their legs sooner or later.”

            “Don’t you think it’s admirable though that the men are willing to make sacrifices in hopes that they might negotiate better wages and safer working conditions?” Peeta questions before he remembers to whom he is speaking.

            Adelaide stares blankly at her youngest son, a look he has come to know means that she’s fuming inside and she can’t seem to find words. Rosalind coughs lightly before once again coming to the rescue.

            “I do think there is something to be said for the workers striking. From what I understand, they have attempted to discuss desired changes to the system but thus far they have not been heard.” Rosalind shoots Peeta the smallest of smiles, “The only way America will remain a force is if it continues to change with the times.”

            “Many families’ wealth is built on the backs of those workers.” Glenn hazards to say, looking hesitantly at his mother, “We would be wise to start practicing a better ear with them.”

            “That is preposterous. They have already begun to fill your minds with their lies,” Adelaide sputters, looking around the room as though she hardly recognizes the people sitting with her, “Their behavior is despicable. When my father ran the mill, people were glad to have the work they did. They knew how to work hard and keep their heads down. Now days they want everything handed to them. It’s not natural. Look at what that Charles Darwin said. In nature it is survival of the fittest. Why should it be any different in our society?”

            “Perhaps because we are not beasts, mother.” Peeta snaps angrily still sore from her earlier remarks about him and the knowledge of what she’s done to Katniss. How could his mother be so callous as to compare those people working themselves to the bone to the beasts in the wild? Maybe it’s because Peeta had just been reading about the situation this morning. Or maybe it’s because he can still vividly remember the feeling of Katniss’s ribs jutting out against his palms, but he finds his mother’s complete disinterest in the welfare of her workers horrendous.

            “Well, of course _we_ are not beasts, Peeta.” Adelaide laughs airily, as though his idea is that of a child’s rather than a reasonable man’s. “However, they are not nearly so elevated. We are refined for high society and they are not. Mr. Darwin’s theories apply much more thoroughly to them than they do to us, dear.”

            “So because you make your fortune off the suffering of others, you think that makes you better?” Peeta demands, his voice full of venom and everyone at the table turns to stare at him.

            Rosalind watches him curiously but doesn’t seem to be offended, which just solidifies why Peeta likes her so much. Any other lady would be horrified by his accusations, especially for dinner conversation. She probably would have swooned right at the table. Axel shoots him a rare, sad little look. Both he and Glenn know that Peeta will pay for his indiscretion later.

            “Come now, Peeta.” Bryn says over the rim of his wineglass, “None of us here takes joy in others’ suffering. Now Rosalind, do tell us, you must have some details planned for the wedding already. I know young girls like to dream about such a day.”

            Rosalind smiles her sweetest smile in a desperate attempt to break the tension and it works to some degree. Adelaide’s attention is at least diverted from Peeta for the time being as Rose talks about wedding colors and possible flowers.

…

            “You will punish your son for what he’s done!” Peeta hears his mother shout from down the hallway. He doesn’t hear his father’s response but he can guess that Bryn is not in agreement.

            “I don’t care how old he is! He has embarrassed our family!” She shrieks and he hears a door slam.

            Peeta can guess whose heals are clicking down the wooden hall. He already knows that his mother will be the one administering the punishment because he knows from experience that Bryn Mellark refuses to hit his boys. He doesn’t do anything to stop his wife from doing so however.

            Adelaide sweeps into his room, closing the door and locking it behind her. She prefers not to be bothered by Bryn’s suggestions that she’s done enough; that Peeta has learned his lesson. She learned early on that locking the door made administering punishment easier.

            Peeta doesn’t attempt to move out of her reach. He could fight her off, but something in his gut always stops him. He just doesn’t have it in him to hit his own mother. Despite all of her horrid qualities, she is still his mother, and perhaps a tiny part of him hopes that if he doesn’t fight back, one day she might experience remorse and love him like mothers are supposed to love their sons.

            Her fist comes down against his face with what would be a surprising amount of force if Peeta hadn’t been through this a countless number of times before. Peeta doesn’t inherit his broad form solely from his father. Adelaide Mellark is strong with sinewy muscle that she hides well beneath puffed, lacy sleeves.

            Peeta tries his best not to wince as she throws her fist into his gut, knocking the wind right out of him.

            “Do you know what you did, you stupid boy?” Adelaide shouts, spittle jumping from her lips as she does.

            “I spoke out of turn mother.” Peeta offers up easily but today his mother doesn’t seem to agree, backhanding him across his other cheek.

            “Not only that. You embarrassed our family, talking as though you side with the progressives- the common trash of the city.” Unexpectedly she repeats her movement across the same cheek, hitting the still stinging flesh and causing Peeta to shout out before she continues, “You are a Mellark, and you will act as such even if I must meet with you like this every day!” She grabs a fist of hair, the same hair that Katniss had gently woven her fingers through this afternoon. Adelaide yanks her fist, and Peeta can’t be sure whether it’s the pain or the memory of Katniss’s tender touch that brings tears to his eyes.

            “They aren’t trash!” He shouts through gritted teeth, “They’re better people than you mother! You starve them and work them to death but even without money they are still better than you.”

            “How dare you, Peeta Mellark!” She shrieks, using her grip on his hair to throw him off balance and reeling back into his bedpost. Peeta lets his breath out in a hiss as the wood digs against his shoulder.

            “You fired a girl for saving another worker!” He blurts out before he realizes that his actions are inadvisable. Bringing any attention to the fact that he knows about Katniss could end badly for them both.

            Adelaide’s face turns the same color as a ripe tomato and she brings her livid visage only inches from Peeta’s.

            “That girl was arrogant and didn’t know when to leave well enough alone. She deserved what she got.” She slaps him across the face for good measure before adding, “I won’t have some Seam whore working in my factory, who thinks a pitiful, little negro girl is worth saving.”

            Peeta wants to shout at the woman before him for calling his Katniss a whore. He wants to shake her for blacklisting the girl he loves so dearly, leaving her to starve to death. But Peeta knows better and stays silent as his mother stalks angrily from the room. He knows that things will be better for Katniss if he doesn’t push the subject any further. He’s already lucky that his mother wasn’t coherent enough through her anger to demand how he knows about the Seam girl.

            Peeta stands once she’s gone and hazards a look at his face in the bathroom mirror. He cringes at the bruises already blossoming across his skin. He won’t be able to leave the house for several days now if he wants to avoid answering questions about how he got them.

            Sometime before he drifts off but after he’s fully conscious, he imagines Katniss lying next to him. Her gentle hands brush comfortingly through his curls before ghosting over the swelling bruises. Her touch is like a balm to the inflamed skin, melting away the pain wherever her fingers land.

            Peeta smiles softly, “I love you,” he murmurs to the vision beside him and she simply smiles sweetly in reply as he finally falls asleep.

 

…

 

_Katniss_

 

            “It’s about time you came home,” Johanna greets me, standing from the sofa when I walk through the door of our apartment a few days after Gale came home from The Hob. I stare at the scene completely bewildered. Prim is now watching the two of us in fascination from her place in the kitchen.

            “What are you doing here, Johanna?” I ask rudely, forgetting my manners from the shock of seeing one of Mr. Abernathy’s girls in my living room.

            She smirks, waving a hand at the room around her, “I wanted to see where the girl with all the fire lives. Can’t say I expected anything more, I suppose, but it’s a bit of a letdown.”

            “How did you know where I lived?” I scowl, disregarding her insult for the time being.

            “I might have spent some time talking with that cousin of yours. He comes into the saloon often enough after his fights- or he used to anyway.” She says with a wicked smile.

            “He’s not my cousin.” I correct her. “Gale is just a friend.”

            She shrugs, “Well he sure looks like you. He could pass for your cousin if you wanted.”

            I frown but don’t say anything more, waiting for her to explain why she’s standing in my living room now.

            “Take a walk with me, Katniss. We need to talk.” She orders, slipping past me in the doorway without waiting for a response.

            I shoot Prim a look and she nods before I shut the door and hurry after the strange woman. Johanna waits to speak until we’re several buildings away from home. When she does, she uses her usual, no-nonsense tone.

            “I wanted to tell you about a job opening.” She states matter-of-factly. “Catherine Smith, one of the other girls, finds herself indisposed from a _little_ _problem,_ and she’s leaving for the countryside to live with a distant cousin. That leaves an opening in Haymitch’s show.

            “I don’t know if you can sing or dance but I thought I’d be a doll and let you know. You seem like you have more spirit than most girls and I thought you might be interested.”

            I frown at her, confused as to what exactly she’s proposing, or rather, afraid of what I think she is.

            She rolls her eyes and says more bluntly, “You can be one of Haymitch’s girls if you want to.”

            My jaw drops indelicately, “Wh- why would you even think-“

            “Listen,” she says turning to face me, our casual walk forgotten, “you can trust me when I say I know what it’s like to be blacklisted. You think I planned on being one of Haymitch’s girls? By the time I started working for him, I was desperate enough to take any job someone offered me.”

            She shrugs indifferently, “I just thought I would help you out and give you the tip. You do with it what you will. This life isn’t for everyone and I know that. You can’t be concerned about your reputation because you won’t have one, or at least you’ll wish you didn’t have one, by the time you finish working for Haymitch. But if you’re desperate enough, it pays well.”

            My face flushes red with humiliation, “You think I would become some harlot-“

            “Oh please,” Johanna laughs sharply, “You don’t have to do _that_ part of it if you’re so innocent. There are a couple of the girls who only work in the saloon, nothing on the side, and I never spend private time with a man for money. The girls that do, do so on their own time. Haymitch doesn’t have his hand in that, but he turns a blind eye for them.

            “The work pays well enough without the side dealings that your family would make off well. Just think about it, Katniss. Stop by The Hob if you decide you’re interested.”

            I watch as Johanna retreats down the street, leaving me speechless in her wake. I return home and brush off Prim’s questioning. I don’t sleep that night, my mind flooded with thoughts of Johanna’s proposal. I am alternately humiliated and resigned at the thought of working at the Hob.

            I can sing well enough, I’m sure. And if the job really pays as well as Johanna says, my family would be able to live in comfort without the constant fear of losing everything. It’s the shame of it that I’m most concerned about really, and not just for myself. I’m worried that Prim’s reputation will be ruined if I worked for Mr. Abernathy. Eventually, I reluctantly admit to myself that I have no need of a reputation since I have no intention of ever marrying.

            Despite whatever romance has been budding between Peeta and I, I must relent that nothing can come of it. I shed several tears that night as I finally come to terms with this fact. Peeta and I will never be together. That we’ve shared as much time as we have is a miracle in itself. It’s bound to end sooner rather than later and it would be foolish for me to refuse a position at The Hob in hopes that Peeta might actually sweep me off my feet and carry me away from the city to a life of luxury. It’s a girlish fantasy that can’t actually exist in the world I live in. I try to steel myself against the wave of pain that overcomes me when I think of leaving Peeta. I didn’t realize just how attached I have become but now it is quite evident. It was foolish of me to let things get this far with Peeta.

            I bury my face into my pillow to silence the sobs that rise from my chest suddenly and uncontrollably as my mind continues to berate me with thoughts of how impossible my secret hopes had been. I had been pretending that I was still a child and now a very adult choice has been placed in front of me. There is really only one decision to be made.

            I know that working for Mr. Abernathy will give Prim a better life than I could give her any other way. However this knowledge does nothing to soothe the shattering pain in my chest and I try to cry as quietly as possible so I don’t wake my baby sister. I don’t want to answer the questions I’m sure she would ask me.

            Tomorrow I will go to the Hob and I will sing for Mr. Abernathy. If he grants me a position in his show, I will leave behind my mother and sister to become a showgirl in a saloon. Peeta will not be, really, cannot be part of that future anymore than my baby sister can be.

            Tomorrow, I will break my own heart to save my family the only way I know how.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to review to let me know what you thought.  
> Also, for those interested, I wrote a little oneshot on a whim about Glenn and Rosalind. It can be found on my profile under the title Fire, Freckles, and Intellect.
> 
> Thank you to everyone for your reviews in the last chapter. I appreciate all of your support. Special thanks to guest reviewers Katie and Reanna since I can’t send you a response personally.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so very much for your reviews and support. It never ceases to amaze me how many of you enjoy reading ADAD. A special thanks to populardarling who is the wonderful lady who betas this story so it’s a better read for everyone.

_Katniss_

            I don’t sleep at all and by dawn I rise knowing there’s no hope for a moment’s rest. I decide to make the best breakfast I can for Prim using the meager offerings in the kitchen.

            The porridge isn’t much and it doesn’t look appetizing, but I know Prim is too sweet to turn her nose up at it. When she walks into the room, already dressed for school, she glances at me worriedly.

            “Katniss, you look awful,” she says in the kindest tone, “Are you feeling well?”

            I give my best attempt at a smile, “I’m okay, Little Duck. I just didn’t sleep well.”

            “Your eyes are swollen. Have you been crying?” she asks, placing a delicate hand against my forehead. She’s always been sharp as a whip, that’s why she will make such a good healer, and I did cry several times throughout the night as I pondered thoughts better left alone.

            “It’s nothing, Prim,” I assure her with the best smile I can muster. “Don’t think on it for a second.” I hand her a bowl of porridge and she looks entirely unconvinced but doesn’t argue anymore.

            “Are you sure you’re feeling well?” Prim asks once more as she walks out the door on her way to school, “I can stay home if you want.”

            “Nonsense, Prim,” I scold, patting her lightly on the shoulder and handing her a pail of lunch. “I’m walking around just fine, aren’t I? I’ll be here when you get home.”

            It’s too early to leave for The Hob right now and I have mending that needs to be done by the afternoon, so I try to focus on the painstakingly boring work until I hear the old church bells in the city ring twelve o’clock. The last pair of trousers I mend feels like it might drive me insane until, finally, I cut the thread and hurriedly gather the clothes.

            Hazelle is up to her elbows in washing when I arrive and doesn’t keep me chatting for too long, which I am grateful for since my mind seems to only hold one thought on repeat at the moment. From the Hawthorne’s apartment, I hurry toward the factories and I am pushing through the door of The Hob just as the lunch rush is beginning to die down.

            I make my way to the counter and Sae sees me coming, her eyes narrowing. The woman is sharp as an arrow and I’m sure my face gives away my nervousness. I’ve never been very good at hiding my emotions. Papa always said it was good I was a girl because I’d lose all my money in poker if I weren’t.

            “What are you doing here, child?” she asks once I’m close enough. Rue is just beside her, scrubbing away at a massive pile of lunch dishes. The young girl looks up and gives a bright smile.

            “I need to speak with Mr. Abernathy.” My voice trembles traitorously, an octave too high to sound calm and confident, but I continue, “Do you know where I can find him?”

            The old woman eyes me, her gaze landing on my hands where I have been nervously wringing my fingers since I walked in. I drop them to my sides immediately, but the damage is already done. She shakes her head ever so slightly and sends me a sympathetic look. She knows. My face flushes with embarrassment, but I know I might as well get over that right now. I try to remind myself that there’s no shame in doing what I must to provide for my family.

            “He’s in the back, dear,” Sae says softly, nodding her head towards the door that leads to the rear of the saloon.

            I nod my thanks, quickly crossing the saloon under the gazes of a few straggling men, and I find the old drunk just where she said he would be. He’s bent over some papers, frowning as he takes a swig of the clear liquor in his glass. His frown deepens to a scowl when he looks up to find me standing in his doorway.

            “This should be good,” he remarks, taking another long drink before leaning back and fixing me with his gaze. He has Seam eyes, I notice. “What trouble have you brought with you this time, Sweetheart?”

            “No trouble,” I reply, trying to sound calm despite my racing heart, “I heard you were looking for a new girl for your show.”

            He smacks his hand against the table, lines deepening in his scowl, “Who told you that?”

            “Does it matter?” I retort, holding his gaze. All I really want is for the floor to open up beneath me, but I know that he won’t take me seriously if I look unsure of this.

            “It was Johanna,” he says firmly, shaking his head. I’m not sure how he knows, but I don’t deny that he’s correct, “Damn that woman. Well, the answer to you is no.”

            My heart drops into my stomach. This is the only chance I have to feed my family. I take a step forward, ready to fight the old drunk on this.

            “You haven’t even let me sing yet-“

            “No,” he cuts off my argument. And looks me over, “You can’t be more than a day over fifteen. I’m not letting a child-“

            “I’m not a child!” I snap, standing up as straight as I possibly can. I know I’m small and right now I’m bonier than almost any other girl my age. I don’t blame him for thinking I’m so young. I lack any curves that might convince him otherwise.

            “I’ll be eighteen in a week. I’m fully aware of the implications of working for you, Mr. Abernathy, and I would appreciate a fair chance.”

            His scowl deepens but I don’t relent, staring brazenly at the man who holds the fate of my family in his hands whether he realizes it or not. He lets out a deep breath and seems to realize we’ve reached a standstill.

            “You’ll get one song to prove that you can do this.” He holds up a finger and points it at me, “One, you hear me? And you won’t be doing any business upstairs with the other girls. I don’t care if I’m not in charge of what goes on up there, I won’t have a girl like you dealing in such things.”

            It strikes me that perhaps I should be annoyed by Mr. Abernathy’s assumptions both that I would want to take part in what happens upstairs and that he has any control over what I choose to do. However, I am too grateful at this point to consider arguing with the man. Instead, I nod politely.

             “Of course, Mr. Abernathy.”

            “The show starts at nine o’clock. You get here at seven thirty. Come in the back door. I won’t have you walking through the saloon at night until you’re working- _if_ you’re ever working,” he says sharply, clearly none too pleased by the idea. “You’ll sing for me and the others and we’ll decide then.”

            “Thank you, Mr. Abernathy. I will be here,” I assure him as I turn to take my leave. I have no intention of giving him the opportunity to change his mind.

            “Sweetheart,” he calls out and I turn, wondering if he even knows my name, “you make good and sure this is what you want before you come back tonight. There’s no going back after working at a place like this.”

            I nod, knowing all too well that my life will be changed forever once I start working in the saloon. Marriage will never be in the future after tonight if all goes according to my plan. I had never wanted to marry of course, but once I become a showgirl there will be no question about it. My reputation will be tarnished forever.

            I return home and find myself with little to occupy my worried mind, instead fidgeting uncomfortably the rest of the day, waiting for the evening to come so I can return to The Hob and get this over with.

            Mother returns home from a call out on the western edge of the Seam. There’s a strange fever spreading there that has her deeply concerned, but when she sees me nervously cleaning the kitchen, she clears her throat.

            “Katniss, dear, are you alright?”

            I look up into her blue eyes, creased at the corners with worry. I must look a fright if she’s actually noticed something different about me.

            “I’ll be fine, Mother,” I answer quietly, my voice just louder than the swish of the towel against the metal sink, “I will be leaving this evening to see about a job.”

            Her pale eyebrows shoot up as she reaches for my hand, “What job would that be?”

            She knows just as well as I do what sort of job requires a girl to go out at night and I stare back at her with a steely gaze. I won’t be the one to say it. Perhaps it’s cruel. Perhaps I want her to say it because I want to punish her for what she did to us. Perhaps it will soothe something inside of me to make her admit how far into the pit of poverty our family has fallen.

            “Katniss…” she whispers, a sad look overcoming her that lights a fire in my belly. How dare _she_ look sad about this. It’s my life, my future that is being dragged through the mud.

            “I’m going to be a singing girl at a saloon near the factories,” I spit, taking great pleasure in the way she winces at my words. “It’s all that is left to do now, Mother. I won’t be staying here. I plan to make living arrangements above the saloon since I want to protect Prim, but you can’t fall apart again. You can’t crawl back into your mind and leave her alone.”

            “I was sick, Katniss-“ she starts, but I shake my head.

            “It doesn’t matter, Mother,” I argue, my voice rising despite my best efforts to control it. “You left your daughters to fend for themselves once. You can’t do that again. I won’t be here to watch out for Prim.”

            “I came back! I loved your father and losing him killed a part of me,” Mother reasons sharply. I have hurt her by pointing out her failure to care for us.

            “I loved him too! I loved my father and I lost him just as much as you did, Mother, but I didn’t abandon a helpless little girl!” My hands are shaking with fury, tears burning at my eyes, but I don’t allow them to fall. I won’t let her see me weak.

            She looks as though I’ve slapped her across the face, a small frown forming on her worn face that is still pretty beneath the worry lines.

            “I’m sorry,” she mouths, a broken, tiny squeak that isn’t nearly enough to heal the angry wounds inside of me that still fester with her abandonment.

            “It doesn’t matter,” I lie, “I will get this job tonight and I’ll send my money home to you. You just need to make sure Prim is safe and fed and clothed.”

            Her glassy, blue eyes stare at me as though she’s looking at me for the first time. And maybe she is. I’m not the little girl I was before Father died. I’m not the daughter she knew. I’ve changed in the months that we’ve both been skirting around one another. We’re strangers, really.

            “Promise me you’ll take care of her,” I beg, my voice trembling with the weight of each word.

            “I will, Katniss. She’s my daughter. Of course I will.”

            Her words don’t soothe me much, but they’re all I have so I take them for what they are. Prim walks through the door not five minutes later, glancing curiously at her older sister and mother, noticing the tension in the room.

            “Are you okay, Katniss?” she asks, a worried crease forming on her brow.

            “Of course, Little Duck,” I assure her, ruffling her blonde locks for good measure. “Now, tell me what you learned at school today,” I say, changing the subject.

            Prim is happy to chatter about her science and math lessons. Despite the cruelty some of her classmates have exhibited, Prim still has such a passion for learning. She’s always been the more scholarly of the two of us. Even before things got difficult after Father died, school was always a chore for me, whereas Prim enjoys it.

            She carries the conversation through supper and I manage to keep a smile on my face until she’s shut away in the bedroom doing homework. I help Mother clear the dishes before nervously brushing at my skirt.

            “Don’t tell Prim where I went,” I mumble, “Tell her I went to see Gale if she asks.”

            “Katniss, I-“

            “I will be back later this evening. No need to wait up for me,” I cut her off. I know she was about to tell me something silly, like how sorry she is that this is what we’ve come to. Being sorry won’t change anything though, and it makes my throat close up when she speaks to me in that soft tone. The one she used to use when I was little and she still acted like my mother.

            I don’t wait for her to respond before hurrying out the door. I’m afraid if I stay I will do something childish like let her hug me or cry.

            When I arrive through the back door like Mr. Abernathy instructed me, I’m met with a flurry of activity. Several young women bustle about the room. I manage to catch a glimpse of Johanna, and Clove is shouting something about a garter belt.

            Mr. Abernathy is in a corner having a heated conversation with the most garish looking woman I’ve ever seen. She wears a wig of thickly set curls that tumble from a knot on the top of her head. I’ve rarely seen a woman wear makeup but I can’t see her skin through the thick layer of powders covering her face. Her dress is a shocking pink and she seems to be giving Mr. Abernathy what for.

            A man dressed in an elegant suit hurries past me with a blue silk dress in his arms. His skin reminds me of Rue’s but it’s much lighter and when he speaks to Clove before helping her into the gown, I can’t recognize the strange accent.

            A man in a pinstriped suit whose face seems to perpetually look as though he’s surprised about something, steps through the door that leads to the saloon.

            “Time check, ladies, it’s seven thirty!” he calls in a clear, tenor voice.

            Mr. Abernathy recognizes the time and looks up, spotting me still standing awkwardly in the doorway.

            “Everyone, quiet down now,” he shouts and silence falls almost instantly, the only sound is that of the customers in the saloon on the other side of the wall.

            Mr. Abernathy crosses the room to my side, “Katniss here is looking to fill Catherine’s position. She says she can sing and I’ve given her one song to prove it. You all are going to help me decide if she stays or not.”

            “Well, she is pretty enough, especially once she has some charcoal around her eyes,” the ghastly looking woman says in an airy, falsetto voice.

            “Sing away, Sweetheart. You only have one chance,” Mr. Abernathy says, stepping away.

            As I look out at all the eyes staring at me, I realize I can’t breathe, let alone sing. I have not sung anything for a group this large since that day in choir that Peeta remembers so vividly. Thinking of Peeta doesn’t help matters either as my breath hitches.

            I close my eyes and picture Prim, but not the way she looked today. I picture her those months ago when we were starving to death. I can’t let that happen again. I have the opportunity to give her a better life so I must.

            The song comes to me like a memory whispered in my ear. Father used to sing it to us when he would come home from work and we were still awake in bed. Sometimes we would sing it in the park together on the days mother would have her lady friends over.

            _Deep in the meadow,_

_Under a willow,_

_A bed of grass, a soft green pillow._

            I always loved this song. It sounds so lovely, so peaceful, like the perfect piece of heaven. I would dream as a young girl that I would one day find myself in the place the song describes, but now I realize how outlandish that sounds. I will never make it out of this dirty city. I will live and die here like any other member of the Seam.

            By the time I sing the final line, I open my eyes and realize everyone is staring in rapt attention. I shift awkwardly when no one moves or says anything. This job is our only hope and perhaps I’ve just lost it.

            “I’ll be damned,” Mr. Abernathy utters under his breath, a look of sheer surprise on his face.

            Johanna is staring at me with a cross between a smile and a smirk. Clove is easier to read with a look of poorly concealed jealousy.

            “You should keep her,” the man with darker skin says softly but assuredly, that strange lilting accent like a soft harmony, “She has a certain spark about her.”

            Mr. Abernathy nods, “Is everyone of the same opinion?”

            “She seems a bit innocent, don’t you think, Haymitch?” Clove pipes in, “Do you think she honestly knows what she’s getting into?”

            Haymitch levels me with an appraising look and I stare back, hoping it might prove to him that I understand. I know this night is going to change everything.

            He nods slowly, “I think she does. Any other concerns?”

            No one else speaks out against me, the room deathly still.

            “Then I suppose you have the spot, Sweetheart. You’re paid every other week and you’ll get your cut of the profit just like all the other girls here. Which means, the better you are at your job, the more you’ll be paid. Cinna will take care of you for now. Ask Madame Trinket when you should be here to rehearse,” Mr. Abernathy reluctantly informs me. “You’ll remember our deal though. No outside dealing.”

            “I remember,” I say, stepping forward so that I might speak with him more privately. The others all go back to their earlier flurry of activity as I cross the room. “I also hoped you might rent a room out to me upstairs. I can’t live at home if I’m to work here. I have my little sister-“

            “Yes,” he grumbles gruffly, “You’ll stay upstairs but if I catch you going behind my back to earn more money…” he trails off. I already know the results of such indiscretions.

            “I won’t. You have my word, Mr. Abernathy,” I say, a shiver running down my spine just at the thought of such a thing.

            “And Katniss?” I lift my gaze to his, “Call me Haymitch. No point in formalities anymore.”

            I give half a smile before he heads through the door and into the saloon, leaving me to find my own way. I’m supposed to talk with Cinna, though I have no idea who that might be. I peer around the room in hopes that I might recognize him when I see him.

            “Bonjour, Miss Katniss,” the dark skinned man with the exotic accent says as he steps up gracefully beside me from seemingly nowhere.

            “Pardon me?”

            He laughs lightly, his voice like fresh cream, something I haven’t had in a very long time, but I remember being sweet and rich.

            “It means hello,” he says, kindly. I don’t get the impression he’s poking fun at me despite his laughter. Something is gentle in his eyes and I think immediately that I might come to like him very much. A hesitant smile crosses my face.

            “I’m Cinna. I’m in charge of all the girls’ wardrobes.” He holds a hand out to me, which I take lightly.

            “It is a pleasure to meet you, Cinna,” I say softly, hesitating at the strange name. He smiles in a friendly manner.

            “I will need to measure you for your dress,” he informs me, leading the way to a small sewing table in a tiny room off of the backroom we were just in, “I should be able to make something up for you in two days.”

            He procures a measuring tape and begins taking down numbers without any pretense. I have half the mind to be embarrassed as his hands brush lightly over my body, but he seems completely unaware that he might be causing any discomfort. Cinna is focused on the work at hand and nothing else as he mutters softly to himself.

            I catch a word every so often but I don’t understand any of them.

            “Petet… jon… rouj… byen jen…”

            Curiosity finally gets the best of me as he folds the measuring tape away.

            “What language is that you’re speaking?” I question as he looks over several large bolts of fabric along the wall.

            “Creole,” he says, beaming at me over his shoulder for a moment before turning his focus back to the wall, tapping his chin lightly with a slender finger.

            “Creole?” I repeat the foreign word. “I’ve never heard of it before.”

            “They speak it where I’m from,” he says, selecting a fabric and pulling it from the shelf, “I was raised in the city of New Orleans.”

            “Why did you leave?”

            He arches an eyebrow, quirking his mouth in an amused smile, “You are awfully curious for a young lady.”

            “All girls are curious,” I reply easily with a roll of my eyes, “We just aren’t supposed to be.”

            “But you don’t follow the rules?” he questions, chuckling under his breath as he holds the fabric over the curve of my shoulder.

            “I suppose if I’m going to work for Mr. Abernathy- I mean, Haymitch- I might as well follow my own rules,” I shrug. There doesn’t seem like much of a point in trying to be ladylike when my reputation will be sullied by tomorrow.

            “I think,” the older man says, rolling the fabric back onto the bolt, “That more girls should follow in your footsteps, Katniss.”

            He squints at me for a moment and pulls another fabric from the shelf, holding it up next to my face, “What do you think of the color red? Johanna has told me about you. She says you’re a girl with a fire inside of you. I like the idea of dressing you like one- a flame,” he throws a hand out in front of us both, moving it slowly through the air as though revealing a sign only he can see. “Katniss, the girl si dife.”

            I look up at him with a smile and nod.

            He’s a strange man, I have no doubts about that, but I like him. He’s honest and real. He makes me forget that he’ll be making me a dress because I’m one of Haymitch’s girls and not because I’m paying him to. Cinna sends me back to the front room to talk with Madame Trinket, the woman with the overdone wig and heavy makeup.

            “Katniss.” She says, leaning in to kiss first one cheek then the other. She smells strongly of rosewater and it nearly makes me gag, but she pulls away quickly with a wide smile accentuated by her red lips, “It’s lovely to meet you. I am Madame Trinket.” She holds a hand out daintily to me, giving me a look that leaves me under the impression that I should recognize the name.

            “Madame Trinket was a Prima Dona in Paris for years before she came to America,” Cinna says softly from over my shoulder.

            “Oh,” I say softly, “It’s nice to meet you, Madame Trinket.”

            She smiles, clearly pleased with herself, “There is the small matter of when you should arrive tomorrow so that we might find you a number to sing and train you a bit in the art of acting. Your voice is quite nice, dear, but that will only get you so far. To be truly great you must be able to transform yourself into what the men out there want.”

            I nod. Part of me wishes to tell her that I don’t care about being great, but then I remember what Haymitch said, about receiving a percentage of the profit. If learning how to act from Madame Trinket will give Prim a more comfortable life, I am willing to give it my best effort. She speaks with an airy voice of self-importance that leads me to believe that I wouldn’t ever want to cross her opinions anyway.

            We agree that I will arrive promptly at ten the next morning to start my ‘finishing’ as Madame Trinket likes to call it. By the time I arrive home, the building is quiet, most families having gone to sleep since they will be up in the early hours of the morning. When I slip into our bedroom, Prim is sleeping soundly next to my mother. I can’t help but stay up for a while and watch them. Like this, she still looks like the innocent, young girl that she is. Something inside of me is snapping, cracking at the seams, as I watch her but there’s nothing to be done about it.

            I imagine she’ll be furious when I don’t return home tomorrow or the next day. She can never know where I am though. Prim will live a better life and sacrificing me is a small price to pay for it really.

            There’s also the not so minute matter of Peeta Mellark. I haven’t given myself a real chance to figure out what to say to him, how to tell him. I know he’ll never accept the truth. He promised me once that he would do anything to keep Prim and me safe. If he found out now what I plan to do, he would most certainly put an end to it and I would owe him for the rest of my life. My pride, sinful as it is, won’t allow for it. Peeta Mellark has already done too much for me and I won’t let him throw away his life to do it again.

            I have a fitful night of sleep as dream after dream of Prim calling for me in a garden maze plagues me. Each time I awake gasping for breath, I assure myself that this is for the best. My mind knows it is but my heart seems to disagree.

            Prim doesn’t suspect anything as she readies for school. Her blue eyes, sunken deeply into her skull, glance at me warily when I hold her in a hug for too long and request an extra kiss. I don’t mind though. The extra kiss might have to last me for years before I get the opportunity to safely do so again.

            Mother lingers by the doorway of our bedroom once I return to gather the few belongings I have. Her eyes burn at my back as tears escape down my cheeks despite my best effort to contain them.

            “Katniss…” she starts but trails off as I tuck Peeta’s letters away into a worn sack. I can’t turn to look at her. I won’t let her see what this is doing to me.

            “Just tell Prim that I’ve gone off and eloped,” I whisper my throat too tight to speak any louder. I came up with this plan last night after I woke from my sleep for the third time.

            It’s an easy excuse, one that would explain my sudden disappearance and the money that will now be sent to them. Somehow, I’ve met a man with means and convinced him to marry me. It’s not unheard of through the girls who climb the social ladder in such a manner are typically shunned from society. I plan to disappear as it is so I don’t much mind either way.

            It’s the same lie that I plan to tell Peeta when I post a letter explaining my disappearance. If I break his heart in this way, he will never come looking for me. My hope is that he’ll move on, marry a lovely lady, and have beautiful, gentle children. My own heart splinters every time I think about the sentences I will have to form tonight. I wish there were some other way, one that would allow us to be together, one that wouldn’t mean I would owe Peeta everything for the rest of my life.

            “Will you visit?” Mother’s defeated voice asks from over my shoulder. I wipe my tears and straighten, gathering the sack over my shoulder.

            “Not for a long time. It would have to be safe,” I answer, brushing my skirt down with shaky hands, “I don’t want Prim being linked back to me.”

            “That’s impossible Katniss, someone will surely recognize you,” Mother argues tensely. She’s wringing her hands, which she only ever does when she’s uncomfortable about something.

            “Hopefully they won’t. I won’t look like myself and they won’t call me by my real name.”

            It’s not much assurance, but it’s all I can give her. We have to hope that I won’t be recognized and traced back to my baby sister so she still has a chance at a normal, respectable life.

            “I will send my earnings home every week,” I add because she’s still standing there, looking at me sadly with her pale blue eyes, the ones that look so much like Prim’s.

            “I need to be going,” I whisper, my throat swelling shut once again as I blink furiously at the tears burning in my eyes.

            Her arms are around my shoulders before I can comprehend that she’s moved, “I am not as strong as your father. He never would have let this happen. I am so sorry, my darling Katniss.”

            I can’t recall the last time my mother sounded so emotional and her embraces have always been rare. It’s strange but comforting, her skin soft and yielding against mine, and for a moment I allow myself this indulgence. For a moment, I allow myself to forget all the anger and pain and it is blissful.

            The church bell rings out that it is half past nine o’clock and I pull away reluctantly, the reality of the situation crashing back around us like Lake Michigan’s waves on the shoreline. I try not to look back as I walk out the front door of my home for what could very well be the last time. I’ve heard it’s bad luck to look back at your past when leaving to face the future. Mostly I’m just afraid the tears I’m trying to hold back so desperately might start to fall if I do.

 

 

_Peeta_

 

            “Carl, you’re just the man I was hoping to see,” Peeta says cheerfully from over his morning cup of coffee, “I have a bit of a puzzle for you to help me solve.”

            “Yessir!” Carl nods with a toothy grin, always ready for a challenge.

            “I need to locate a certain valuable item that Katniss sold to a store in return for money,” Peeta explains to the younger boy, “Where might I find a shop that deals in trades like that?”

            Carl eyes the blonde man as though he’s gone completely mad, “Well, there are plenty of shops like that in the Seam, Mr. Mellark.”

            “That is what I feared,” he sighs heavily, letting his head fall into his hands in thought, “How many shops are we talking about?”

            “I don’t know, sir.” Carl itches behind his ear as he ponders for a moment, “At least twelve, I think.”

            Peeta shakes his head, “No, that definitely won’t do. It would take longer than we probably have.”

            He drums his fingers against the desk in thought and snaps his fingers when he finally thinks of something, “How many are near Katniss’s home? I doubt she would have gone out of her way.”

            “There are two, both of them a few blocks from her building,” Carl responds easily and Peeta suspects that the boy would make a damn good cabbie one day if he ever got the chance. He already knows the city like the back of his hand.

            “Excellent, Carl, then we have our mission.” Peeta claps the young boy on the back, gathering his jacket and heading for the door. Carl follows without asking, looking up at the man beside him and waiting for his assignment.

            “We’re looking for the hair comb I gave Katniss for Christmas,” Peeta explains as the boys hurry down the back staircase where Peeta knows he’ll find the driver in the kitchen talking with the scullery maid.

            Carl frowns, “The one with the flower carved on it? What did Miss Katniss sell that for?”

            “She and her family needed the money for the rent,” Peeta says mournfully, “They are in a rough spot right now. Katniss was just so upset. I thought I might surprise her by returning it to her.”

            “Sir, are you sure she won’t be upset by it?” Carl asks, his voice cracking from his anxiety. His voice is mostly finished changing however when the young boy gets nervous it tends to revert back to his child’s voice.

            Peeta frowns at the grey eyes peering curiously up at him, “Why would she be?”

            “It’s just,” the boys cheeks flush red and he turns his gaze to the toes of their shoes before continuing, “she sold it to take care of her family. It might look like you think you could do a better job of it if you go around buying what she was forced to sell.”

            Peeta’s brow creases. He had never thought of it like that, which just goes to show how different things in the Seam can be. With a sigh, he runs a hand through his hair and nods.

            “I understand that, but I still want to do this.” Carl nods and Peeta adds, “Besides, if she lets me explain, she’ll see that I don’t mean it like that.”

            Katniss was so upset when she had to tell him that she sold that comb. He could tell that, while she didn’t want to accept the gift in the first place, it had become important to her. He knows it is important to him. She had been wearing it the first day he kissed her. Somehow that made the tiny object worth chasing down.

            Once the driver has pulled the automobile around, Peeta and Carl settle into their seats, “Where are we headed then?” Peeta questions the younger boy who quickly gives an address.

            It’s fascinating for Peeta to watch how the city changes around him with each passing block. Initially, they pass one opulent mansion after another. Mansions turn to cramped apartments, to the rundown slums of the center of the city. Of course, Peeta has ridden this same path dozens of times before but today it takes him to a different section of the Seam, one grittier than where Katniss lives and it makes him queasy imagining his small Katniss hurrying along the sidewalks to scrounge enough money to survive.

            A layer of grime has settled here in every crack and crevice, giving the area a grey hue despite the bright sunny day. Children walk through the streets without shoes in clothes that look as though they’ve never been washed. However, it isn’t the clothing that holds Peeta’s attention, but rather their bodies; the knobby joints, the heavy limps and missing fingers or hands, the girls with hair cropped short like a boy so that it doesn’t get caught in machinery. Peeta wonders how he has never noticed this before.

            “Is your home near her, Carl?” Peeta questions, peeling his eyes from the view outside of his window for a moment.

            “No, sir,” he replies with a look too solemn for a boy his age to be capable of in Peeta’s mind, “This is where the poor live.”

            “I thought everyone in the Seam was poor.” Peeta hopes his words aren’t insensitive but the boy beside him doesn’t seem perturbed by them.

            “Not like these people. They don’t have homes.”

            “Then where do they live?” Peeta frowns, imagining the cold Chicago winters where the wind whips between the buildings straight off the lake.

            “In allies or charity houses if they are lucky,” Carl answers, wide grey eyes meet blue, “Mama makes us give thanks every night that we aren’t one of them.”

            Peeta is at a loss for words as he looks at the grave face of his companion. He knows that Carl’s family is better off now that the boy works for him instead of trying to sell newspapers, but he also knows things aren’t easy for them. His chest aches thinking about such a young boy being thankful for the little he has instead of living on the streets. Someone that young shouldn’t be that wise.

            “This is the shop right here,” Carl points over Peeta’s shoulder at a dingy, crumbling storefront. Peeta’s mind instantly compares it to the ice cream parlor he had once visited with Katniss. That is the sort of place she should frequent, not this. She’s far too radiant for a place like this.

            The creaking hinges on the door act as a warning that people are entering the shop and a greasy man appears as though summoned from the grime itself.

            “Can I help you?” he questions in a deep, heavy accent, eyeing Peeta suspiciously. Clearly he doesn’t get many visitors dressed in day suits.

            “I hope you can,” Peeta says, flashing his brightest smile and stepping up to the counter, “I am looking for a hair comb.”

            “A particular one?” The man asks slowly, reaching under the counter and procuring a large, thin wooden box and placing it on the counter.

            “I will know it when I see it,” Peeta replies easily. Something tells him that he should keep the entire story a secret from this man.

            The storekeeper raises a bushy eyebrow but nods, opening the box and revealing a large collection of hair trinkets, many of which are damaged in some way.

            A quick glance tells Peeta the comb isn’t here, “Are there any others? Perhaps nicer?”

            The man huffs indignantly, insulted by Peeta’s insinuation. Carl fidgets uncomfortably but the man bows into a back room, muttering to himself in a language Peeta doesn’t recognize.

            When he returns, the man carries a much smaller box, only about the size of his hand, “Seam rat brought this in.”

            Peeta’s heart jumps excitedly at his chest as he peers around the man’s hands. There, nestled against a bit of worn, black satin, is the familiar lotus blossom carved intricately from ivory and set with tiny sparkling rhinestones.

            “How much?” Peeta inquires, his voice soft and breathy as his mind flashes the memory of Katniss that day in the park.

            “Fifteen.” The man gives a smile that reveals yellowed, crooked teeth.

            “Ten,” Carl pipes up just as Peeta was about to reach out a hand and seal the deal. Both older men look down at the boy with looks of surprise.

            The greasy man grunts, but apparently he can’t resist haggling, “Fourteen.”

            “Eleven and no more.” Peeta watches the blood drain from Carl’s face as he shoves his hands deep into his pockets.

            “Too little. Thirteen and final.” He crosses his arms with a firm look.

            “Then we will find another elsewhere,” Carl states dragging Peeta by the hand out the front door. Peeta has half a mind to ask Carl what’s gotten into him but he trusts the boy and follows along.

            Just as Carl’s hand reaches the doorknob, the greasy storekeeper calls after them, “Wait! Twelve and you take the box.”

            “Deal.” Carl gives a toothy grin and shakes the man’s hand while Peeta counts out the bills.

            Once they’re safely ensconced in the automobile again, the dirty box held protectively in Peeta’s lap, he smiles at Carl.

            “I didn’t realize you were so good at business,” he chuckles.

            Carl lifts his shoulders sheepishly, “I have sold to that man before. He knew no other man would be able to afford even the twelve dollars you paid, sir. That was a lot of money.” His voice cracks on the last word and it wrings Peeta’s heart.

            He knows that it is a lot of money of course, but something about hearing it from Carl is particularly heartbreaking. He wonders what the younger boy’s family might be able to do with so much money. Admittedly, Peeta doesn’t know much about Carl’s life outside of the hours he spends with Peeta. He knows the young boy has several other siblings and two working parents, but he hasn’t a clue about anything else. Part of him wishes he did know more, but the other part of him knows that Carl hasn’t offered up any information either. He suspects the young boy doesn’t particularly want to share details of his home life, which Peeta can only respect.

            “I hope Miss Katniss will be pleased,” Carl murmurs as an afterthought, a tiny smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

            Peeta smiles as well, resting back against the soft seat of the automobile, “I hope she will be, too, Carl.”

 

_Katniss_

 

            There isn’t a moment’s time wasted when I walk through the door of The Hob. Immediately, Madame Trinket swoops in on me, a cloud of scented water and green fabric.

            “First, we absolutely must get you into something more presentable,” she chides, guiding me with a hand on my arm into the back room.

            “I haven’t anything more presentable.” I mutter, but she’s already lost in her own thoughts, pulling out a gown I don’t recognize and unfastening me from the dress I’m wearing. My hands immediately reach up to preserve what modesty I can manage. The woman before me seems entirely oblivious to my embarrassment though and continues to unlace my corset.

            “This tattered thing is only fit for the trash,” Madame Trinket muses to herself, “Cinna is still making your new gown, this one is Clove’s but it should suffice for now.”

            A new corset is placed around me and I nearly wheeze when she gives the first pull on the strings. For as petit and graceful as Madame Trinket looks, she has a vicious ability to lace a corset, and she doesn’t just tighten it like I normally wear it. She keeps pulling at the laces until I’m certain I can’t breathe, then she tightens them some more.

            “Don’t hold your breath, Katniss,” she chastises, “I need to get these laces tight.”

            “I believe they already are,” I hiss uncomfortably. How does she expect me to sing when I can’t even take a decent breath?

            “This is the problem with you girls coming out of the Seam,” she muses to herself, mercilessly yanking at the laces again, “You have never worn your corsets tight-laced before. This isn’t about comfort, Katniss; it’s about fashion. You need to look desirable and this will set you on the right path.”

            “I can’t breathe,” I retort, trying desperately not to hate the woman before I really even get to know her, but with each tug at the corset, my patience dwindles.

            “Of course you can!” Madame Trinket argues, “I have tied the corsets of every girl here. I know far better than you how they must be tied,” she knots the laces with a flourish, “There. That already improves your appearance leaps and bounds.”

            I’m too preoccupied with fighting against the bindings to take insult at her comment as she slips the gown over me and deftly fixes the row of buttons down the back.

            “Almost a perfect fit, dear!” Madame Trinket chirps, clapping happily, clearly quite pleased with herself, “Now sit here. I will show you how you should fix your face.”

            I frown, not at all inclined to let the woman touch my face. Madame Trinket’s face isn’t any less garish than it was yesterday, painted with rouge, and charcoal, and rosy color on her lips.

            “Try to hide your horror, brainless,” Johanna’s voice comes from behind her. I turn, wide eyed, to find Johanna leaning against the doorframe with a smirk, “She always saves the worst of it for herself.”

            I settle onto the tiny stool that Madame indicated and try not to cringe as she smears the white puff over my face, followed by a pot of rouge that she dips a brush into and dabs across my cheeks. She reprimands me when I flinch and my eyelids flutter as she tries to line them with charcoal. I wonder what mother would say if she could see me now. I suspect she would be rightfully horrified. No dignified lady paints her face.

            I silently admit to myself when I look in the mirror that I do appear more attractive, though I don’t really look like me. I look like one of the girls that act in the operas, sultry and flawless. It’s strange to watch the reflection looking back at me, almost unrecognizable, but I know it must truly be my own visage because this face still has the same hollow cheeks and familiar grey eyes.

            “Come, come, Katniss,” Madame Trinket claps again. Her clapping is quickly beginning to wear on my patience, but I follow anyway, stepping up onto the low stage in the main room of the saloon.

            A sheet of music is thrust into my hands and a man I have never seen before starts to pluck the notes out on a piano next to the stage. I stare blankly at the dots and lines above the words on the sheet.

            “What on earth is the matter?” Madame Trinket asks with a deep frown when I don’t begin to sing with the music.

            “I haven’t the slightest idea of how to read this,” I hold up the sheet of paper in mild irritation, “I learn songs from listening to them.”

            “Oh for the love of God.” Johanna pipes up from the corner of the room where she’s been observing the scene with a look of amusement.

            “Joseph,” Madame Trinket chirps, not phased by my admission, “You sing along the first time while you play. Katniss you listen and learn the music.”

            An hour later, I have finally managed to learn the words to the song that Madame Trinket apparently expects me to sing in the show. It’s a horrid song though, with silly lyrics and overly dramatic harmonies. I stumble through it disinterestedly. It has no meaning, no purpose-

            “Stop!” the gaudy, Frenchwoman shouts for what must be the tenth time, “You must make the men like you,” she calls out clearly from her seat in the saloon, cutting off my song from where I stand on the small stage. “Singing like that, they will admire your voice for a moment and forget you. You must allow them to feel the music with you. They must suffer your pain so they might imagine saving you from it. They must revel in your happiness so they might imagine sharing it privately with you.”

            It makes me queasy to think about teasing the audience of men like this. Ladies are not meant to tease or incite desire. That’s what my mother and society has taught me since I was a child, but now this woman demands I do the exact opposite.

            “I don’t know how to do that,” I grit out between my clenched teeth, frustration boiling over in my blood. Johanna chortles from her seat in the corner, finding my struggle more amusing than everyone else in the room, Madame Trinket included.

            The older woman frowns at the sound of her laughter, “Fine. That will be enough for today. Johanna, you will come back tomorrow and help Katniss work on her appeal.”

            Johanna rolls her eyes but nods.

            “Haymitch will expect you on the schedule in two days though, so we have much, much, much more work to do before then,” Madame Trinket chirps.

            Johanna ambles towards us, “Come on, brainless. I’ll show you where your room is.”

            The stairs are narrow and steep as they creak under our feet, reminding me of the ghost tails of haunted houses that I was told as a child. The room Johanna guides me to looks almost identical to the one they put Gale up in for the night only weeks ago.

            There is a bed with an old, worn quilt covering it. A small dresser rests against the wall next to the door and a chipped washbasin sits atop it alongside a water pitcher. A table with two chairs is in the far corner with an oil lamp settled perfectly in the center of its worn surface.

            It’s a simple room, really not any better than home, but I didn’t take this job for my own comfort. I’ll be fed and clothed here and I’ll still have money to send home to Prim and mother.

            I try to dawdle about, unpacking the few belongings with me as slowly as I can manage so I don’t have to face the one thing I am still dreading about today. Saying goodbye to the home I’ve always known was difficult, but I still have to part ways with Peeta. The thought severs whatever seams were keeping my heart pulled together. My chest aches painfully, but I can’t avoid this. It’s for the best that I end things with Peeta. He would never accept this fate for me.

            Procuring a small sheet of paper and a stub of a pencil, I settle down at the table and set to writing a letter that will ensure Peeta will never come looking for me again. I know I have to break his heart, but in the process I end up breaking my own.

            I swat at my tears in irritation. The very last thing I need is to stain the letter with them so he knows I was upset while writing these words. And so it is, with certain effort and a great amount of emotional turmoil later, I scribble my name, shakily at the end of a letter full of lies and hurtful sentences. I seal it away in an envelope and scrawl his name across the front before hurrying out of my room. I don’t want to spend a moment there thinking about what I am about to do. If I think about it, I might change my mind and the results would be disastrous, I am sure.

            I walk until the sun has nearly set, the long summer day fading into a short, sticky summer night. I find a young boy selling papers on the corner of a street, much like Peeta had found Carl, I imagine, and ask him to deliver the letter promptly to Mr. Mellark, passing him several silver coins.

            I only watch for a minute as he hurries past late evening couples walking home in the fading evening light. I turn away then and head back to The Hob, back to the life I have chosen, for better or for worse.

 

_Peeta_

 

            He can’t believe the words on the sheet of paper before him. He can’t possibly have comprehended them correctly. He can’t breathe. He can’t think. This surely can’t be happening.

            An unfamiliar boy had delivered the letter just after dark and Peeta had quickly begged leave from the drawing room to retire for the night so he might read the letter in peace. As he grips the back of the chair, staring down at the offensive paper on his desk from where he stands, he is glad he did not read it in his mother’s presence. She most certainly would have snatched it away from him, demanding if he had seen a ghost.

            He looks at the signature and back up to the line reading his name, only his name; no dear nor sweetest, simply Mr. Mellark. The words sting as he reads them, like rubbing salt into wounds he didn’t realize he had. The body of the letter proves no more comforting than a stampede of buffalos trampling his chest.

            He reads the words again like the masochist he knows he must be.

 

_Mr. Mellark,_

_I write to inform you that further inquiry for my company need not be made for I have eloped today._

_I felt you deserved to hear of the news from my own hand rather than by any rumors you might hear. I wanted to give you an explanation for what might seem like a rash decision. You see, for the past several months, my fancy has been captured by a handsome man by the name of Mr. David Whitman. Mr. Whitman had never taken notice of me, however, and I was desperate to catch his eye as he had caught mine._

_When you started to make your affections known, I saw such an opportunity that would allow me to incite Mr. Whitman’s jealousy and chose to take full advantage of it. I allowed you to grow closer to me and I professed to false affections of my own towards you. I do most sorely regret any pain I have caused you with my deceit. I used you, selfishly, as a pawn in my game._

_Our budding romance succeeded in catching Mr. Whitman’s eye and he asked me, most suddenly, to marry him only this evening past. He had no interest in a wedding and I have never been so sentimental as to desire such a thing so we eloped._

_I hope you might one day forgive me for using your freely given trust only to further my own position. If you might not forgive, then I hope you might forget and move on to care for another lady more deserving than myself. I have found my love, Mr. Mellark, and wish you the same happiness._

_Sincerely,_

_Katniss_

 

            Peeta swings out a hand and sends a small clock crashing to the ground, hoping that this might ease the throbbing in his chest and allow him to breathe again. He’s not sure he wants to breath again though. Breathing only means he’ll have to live with the knowledge that she is gone from his life.

            Married. _Married_. He kicks at the chair roughly, sending it skittering across the room, scratching the shiny gloss of the wooden floor. It doesn’t help though. The damage of it only fuels his anger, leaving him hungry for more.

            He cries out a harsh, heaving sob. Why does it feel like his body is being torn to shreds from the inside out? How can he feel so hollow? How can he make it stop hurting?

            It’s when he asks himself this question that he remembers the bottle of whiskey Axel had hidden in his suite two years ago. His mother had been furious with her middle son’s behavior and threatened to turn the room inside out and take every depraved object from him.

            “It’s the best money can buy,” Axel had told him, “She’ll just empty it down the drain. You can’t waste whiskey like this on something like that. Just leave it here and I’ll take it back when it’s safe.” He had said, sliding it, ironically enough, behind Peeta’s copy of the Holy Bible.

            Axel had never taken the bottle back though, instead telling Peeta to keep it for a rainy day. Today is that rainy day. He throws the books roughly from the shelf to the floor as he searches for the amber liquid.

            The glass bottle is just where Axel left it and in one swift movement, Peeta uncaps the bottle and guzzles down a fourth of it. He coughs and sputters as he comes up for air, the liquid burning like fire as it descends into his stomach. He can still think too clearly though so he drinks more.

            It’s not long before he’s slumped against the post of the foot of his bed, shirtsleeves unbuttoned along with the first three buttons under his neck. He couldn’t seem to breath so he thought it might help to have them undone but lost interest before he could manage to take the entire shirt off.

            He gazes at the crumpled letter in his hand, vision blurring as he stares blankly at _her_ name in _her_ handwriting. It only takes him a moment to strike the match he’s holding and light the offending thing on fire. He can’t stand to look at it any longer. It hurts too much.

            He lets the paper drop once the flames lick his fingers and it singes the hideous Oriental rug that he’s always hated anyway but his mother forced him to keep. Peeta watches the curls of smoke rise up, floating gracefully through the air.

            He tries to ignore the knock at the door but whoever it is doesn’t have any proper manners and enters without his bidding to do so. Glenn smelt smoke out in the hallway as he passed on his way to his own rooms. Thinking perhaps his younger brother lit a candle and fell asleep, Glenn decided to check on the younger man.

            “Oh Peet,” Glenn’s voice carries to him from the door. He doesn’t really sound like Glenn though because Glenn wouldn’t sound so concerned.

            Glenn doesn’t get concerned about anything because Glenn doesn’t have emotions. Glenn is smart. It’s safer not to feel at all than to feel and end up like the pathetic mess Peeta is now.

            “What have you done, little Peet?” His brother soothes as he brushes a hand through Peeta’s hair and looks into the younger man’s eyes with his own impossibly pale ones.

            Peeta doesn’t know why or how, but he suddenly sees all the emotion there, locked away behind the washed out blue of his brother’s eyes. Glenn loves Peeta, no matter how stupid that feeling might be. Something snaps inside him like a beam that finally cracks after the flames of a fire have ravaged it, sending sparks flying wildly and uncontrollably into the air.

            Glenn has never seen his little brother fall apart quite so completely and tragically as the young man buries his face against the clean linen of his older brother’s shirt. Peeta had always been the kindest and happiest of the three Mellark brothers. Glenn knows something awful must have happened to reduce him to this state and Glenn hates whatever that something might be.

            It’s not until Peeta sobs out a name that Glenn realizes that a person might have done this to his little brother. Katniss, he had said. Glenn has never known most of Peeta’s friends, being six years older, but he’s sure that if he ever meets this Katniss, he will make her suffer more than his dearest brother is now.

            “Hush, Peet, you have to quiet down,” he tells the sobbing man in his arms, still brushing a gentle hand through his sweaty curls. “We don’t want Mother to hear you. She’ll be livid if she sees you like this.”

            Peeta doesn’t really quiet down but Glenn doesn’t have the heart to tell him again so he lets his brother cry and holds him because it’s all he can think to do. He’s never quite known how to show Peeta that he would do anything for him; that he, quite simply, loves his little brother more than words could ever describe. The older man has never been able to tell him this though.

            Sometime well into the wee hours of the morning, Peeta quiets down to a sniffling mess, completely drained of energy and still drunk to boot. Glenn manages with some difficulty to get the stockier man into bed and strip his clothes off before covering him with a blanket.

            Peeta falls asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow. His soft, deep breathing is the only sound left in the overlarge suite as Glenn brushes a stray curl back from his forehead. Tomorrow Peeta will suffer for tonight’s decisions, Glenn is sure about that, but perhaps it will take away some of the lingering hurt that the girl, Katniss, caused him.

            “Good night, little Peet. I don’t know what she did to you, baby brother,” Glenn whispers to his unconscious brother, and for the first time in his life utters the words, “But I love you no matter what.”

 

…

 

            The light sends pain shooting straight from his eyes to the back of his skull when he cracks them open the next morning. He lets out a groan both because of his pulsing headache and the rush of memories from last night. It only comes back in flashes- his rumpled shirt, the letter on fire, someone, and he’s afraid that someone was Glenn, holding him while he sobbed.

            He sits up slowly and the room starts to spin. He lies back against the pillow in hopes that it will stop before he gets sick all over the bed. Peeta can hear the sounds of the house waking up below, recognizing that it must be well into the morning by now but he can’t fathom finding the motivation to get out of bed. So he lies there, staring up at the ceiling hoping that the throbbing in his head will take some of his heartache with it when it wears off.

            Peeta is not sure how long he lies there before the door slowly cracks open and Glenn’s lanky form steps inside. Peeta closes his eyes and hopes his brother might think he’s still asleep. He doesn’t want to look the older man in the eyes after last night and he doesn’t even remember everything that happened.

            “Peet, I lived with you for over half of my life. I know you’re awake.” Glenn says softly setting a tray down on the bed next to his brother with half of a grin. He remembers how Peeta used to do this all the time as a young child in hopes that he wouldn’t be forced to attend school. It never worked.

            “I brought coffee and toast. I figured your stomach probably doesn’t feel too great this morning,” he says settling into bed next to Peeta so that his back is against the footboard.

            He toes Peeta in the side, “You have to wake up, Peeta. Mother will be up here soon if you don’t. I told her you were feeling a bit under the weather this morning but that’s only going to work for so long.”

            Peeta groans but opens one eye to glare at Glenn. He doesn’t say anything but sits up slowly, propping himself against the headboard.

            Glenn hands him the cup of coffee, “I know you don’t like the taste but it helps, trust me.”

            Peeta takes a swig of the steaming beverage and grimaces. It tastes just as awful as he remembers. He kicks the rest of it back, trying not to think about the bitter taste of it. If it helps with the spinning, he would drink an entire pot of the stuff.

            He starts in on the toast next, nibbling at first, wary of how it will sit on his churning stomach. The heavy rye bread seems to banish any nausea however and he’s cleared the plate almost before he realizes it, suddenly famished.

            When he is done, Peeta looks up to his brother’s gaze for the first time. Glenn has been watching him the entire time but the younger man couldn’t bear to look up at him. Now he has no choice though with nothing further to occupy himself. The drab blue of his oldest brother’s eyes question him wordlessly but he pretends he doesn’t see it.

            Glenn isn’t about to let him off that easy though.

            “Whatever she’s done, she’s a fool for it,” he says, “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay, but I am here for you, Peet. And if I ever meet this Katniss-”

            “Don’t say her name,” Peeta hisses, realizing he must have drunkenly spoken her name last night. “I don’t want to hear it ever again.”

            Glenn nods, “Fair enough. But if I do meet her, she’ll hear a piece of my mind. Clearly she is a stupid, little girl if she did this to you.”

            “She isn’t though,” Peeta whispers, pain palpable in his voice.

            “Anyone who hurts my baby brother’s heart must be a fool. You’re too good for her, Peet,” Glenn says with a frown before standing and gathering the now empty trays.

            “You should take a bath. You smell awful and it will help clear your head,” Glenn suggests, back to his typical clinical tone.

            “Will it ever stop hurting, Glenn?” Peeta questions his voice that of a child’s, eyes wide with the terrifying thought of always feeling this way.

            Glenn gives a half smile, “The hangover will be gone by this evening, Peet, I promise.”

            “You know that’s not what I meant. You loved Sara, the girl from the Seam. I didn’t realize it then but the way you looked at her-“

            “That was a long time ago, Peeta,” Glenn interrupts but it’s impossible to miss the regret in his voice. “You need to get up. Mother will be up soon.”

            Peeta nods and starts slowly making his way out of bed. Just as Peeta is about to enter the bathroom, Glenn calls out from the doorway.

            “Peeta?” Both men turn to face one another from opposite sides of the room, “It gets easier as time goes on. It won’t always hurt like it does right now.”

            They stare evenly at one another for a long moment, both men sharing a part of himself with the other that no one else in the world knows. The room falls into silence for a long while before Peeta nods slowly and they each turn to leave the room. Peeta hopes his brother is correct when he says it will get easier because right now all he wants to do is curl up in a hole and wait to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to let me know what you thought of this chapter by leaving a review. I truly appreciate hearing from each and every one of you. I’ve been terrible about responding to them lately with work and the holidays but I promise I do read them all and I am trying to keep up with answering them!  
> As always, you can also follow me on tumblr at therebelliondies. Feel free to drop me a line if you want! I love getting to know my followers.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who took the time to review the last chapter. I'm so terribly behind on reviews but I'm hoping to be better about it this time around. Just know that it means the world to me to hear from each and every one of you. Special thanks to for betaing and making this chapter as spiffy as it can be.

_Katniss_

 

            “Katniss!” Cinna calls, motioning me over to his corner of the busy back room. He holds out the deep, scarlet gown with a smile. “Finished just in the nick of time.”

            I smile as I brush a hand over the fine fabric. This dress is quite unlike anything I have ever worn before. Of course, the neckline is immodest, which is to be expected in an establishment like this I suppose, but the dress is bustled and filled with so many beautiful details, I gasp in spite of myself.

            “It’s beautiful,” I murmur, offering Cinna a shy smile.

            “A girl on fire needs a dress to match her beauty,” he replies gently, spinning a finger in the air indicating that I should turn around, “Let me help.”

            His nimble fingers make quick work fixing me into the gown. It occurs to me that I should be mortified to have a man, practically a stranger, aid me in dressing, but something about Cinna is so soothing that this seems different; he is an exception. I’m grateful that he’s the one helping me rather than Madame Trinket.

            “Are you nervous?” he asks softly, his gentle fingers working at the fastenings of my dress as he does.

            “Yes,” I answer honestly. There doesn’t seem to be much of a point in lying about it.

            “You’ll be alright, Miss Katniss, you’ll see,” he assures me, patting my shoulder lightly with a gentle smile, “You sing prettier than anything I’ve ever heard before.”

            His words coax a smile to my face, “Thank you, Cinna.”

            “Katniss, you’re on,” Mr. Flickerman calls from the doorway.

            I give Cinna one last nervous glance but he simply nods his head, “I’m betting on you.”

            Mr. Flickerman introduces me on stage as The Girl on Fire, never using my name. Haymitch insisted on this earlier this evening, adamantly stating that we needed to protect my true identity. For Prim’s sake, I had no problem agreeing; it will keep her reputation safer if no one knows it’s Katniss Everdeen singing at The Hob.

            The old drunk watches me from the back of the room now, absentmindedly cleaning a glass as the piano starts up and I sing the opening lines of the tune Madame Trinket insisted I sing.

            The men are boisterous, clearly several drinks in by the time I even stepped onto the stage. I wish I could keep the blush from rising to my cheeks as several of them call out lewd comments. I reason that the blush doesn’t matter much though because I’m wearing the rouge just as Madame Trinket taught me. Perhaps there is some method to her madness.

            Silence quickly falls around me, although I wonder if part of it is the nerves causing my ears not to function properly. Judging by the rapt attention several men in the front row seem to be giving me though, I think I must be doing well enough.

            When the song finally ends, there is a long pause of silence where I breathe as deeply as my corset will allow. All at once the applause starts followed by men standing and hollering their adorations. It all seems too surreal, as though it is happening to some other girl and I’m just watching from behind a curtain nearby.

            Mr. Flickerman suddenly appears beside me, smiling and laughing at the men’s cheering, “That, dear lads, is the lovely Girl On Fire. If you’re lucky, you might get to whisper a few sweet nothings in her ear after the show,” he chortles beside me, leaning over in a bow while I curtsy just the way Madame Trinket coached me to before scurrying off stage to make room for Clove.

            “You were wonderful, Katniss,” Cinna whispers softly, wrapping me in his arms without hesitation as I enter the back room once again.

            Everyone is still bustling about. Johanna yells something about a missing garter belt, but I hardly notice as I smile back at him.

            “You really think so?” I ask hesitantly, tugging at the curls that Madame Trinket styled in my hair, “I was so terribly nervous.”

            He places a gentle, fine-boned hand to my cheek, “Katniss, I have never seen a room filled with such fascinated men. You are a phoenix, dear, rising from the ashes of a dying city.”

            I can’t help but laugh. He paints me far more beautifully than I deserve.

            “You have a way with imagery, Cinna.”

            “Only when I am inspired, my girl si dife.” He grins, giving my hand a gentle squeeze before hurrying off to help Johanna who is now tossing garments across the room in a haphazard attempt to find her garter belt.

            The rest of the show passes in a flurry of color and noise and lights. Before I know it, the show has closed and Madame Trinket is pushing me out into the main room of the saloon again, “to make friendly conversation with the patrons,” she informs me in her overly exuberant tone.

            “Try not to look so terrified,” Johanna mutters as she passes by me, her shoulder brushing against mine.

            “What am I supposed to do?” I demand in a harsh whisper, hurrying after the older woman who has somehow become my confidant in all of this. I never thought I would seek advice from such a brazen woman, but she knows this world better than I and I’m not so prideful that I can’t ask her for help.

            “Talk to them,” she instructs easily, flashing a sultry smile at a man who must be at least ten years her senior as we pass, “Make them love you.”

            “How?” I ask, trying and failing quite miserably to hide my exasperation, “How do I make anyone like me?”

            Johanna turns to face me, smiling tightly, her lips a thin line, “You find out what they desire and you become that, Katniss.”

            She makes it sound so simple when it seems to be anything but. I haven’t the faintest idea how I’m supposed to divine what a complete stranger desires. I follow her anyway, hoping to learn quickly from example.

            Surprisingly enough, I do learn quickly, or I discover a natural talent for deception. Either way, I find that speaking with these men isn’t as difficult as I had imagined. I find that a well placed smile or laugh goes a long way with them. The most difficult part is hiding my shock as the men say things that should never be spoken to a lady.

            Somehow, a long while later, I find myself separated from Johanna’s side. Three young men surround me, each one’s eyes roving over my form. I don’t recall ever being looked at so boldly before and I have to stop myself from raising my arms to try and cover myself as I shoot them a shy smile.

            “How does a pretty girl like you end up in a place like this?” The first, a portly young man with a sooty top hat, asks. I wonder whose garbage he must have riffled through to find that hat. Only men of good breeding can afford such finery.

            “I- I was,” I fumble, unable to spin an appropriate lie. Madame Trinket already explained to me that no man wants to hear that we girls are here because we had no other choice. They want us to be here because we desire to be in their company, to sing and dance and laugh for them.

            “Don’t you know better, Willie?” the second, a scrawny man with stringy yellow hair, smiles with the few teeth he has left, “You never ask a wench questions.”

            My cheeks flush in spite of myself as I take a step back from these strangers. I know Madame Trinket will give me an earful for walking away, but I won’t stand here while they speak this way about me.

            “Come here, sweetheart,” the third man’s broad hand seeks out my wrist just before I step out of his reach, “I won’t make you talk. You won’t need to talk at all to give me what I’m searching for.”

            I tug my arm from his grip, spinning quickly on my heels in hope that he won’t catch sight of the tears prickling as they gather in my eyes. It overcomes me all at once and suddenly this day has gone on for too long.

            “Sweetheart, come back!” he calls after my retreating form, “I just wanted to touch.”

            Haymitch’s gravely voice spits some short reply at the man and no one comes after me. A strangled sob lodges itself in the back of my throat. It’s not even the man’s words that bother me so much, nor his grabbing hands. It’s the homesickness that overwhelms me as I climb the stairs and find myself in my room only moments later, letting my back rest against the wood of the door.

            Closing my eyes, I try to pretend I’m not here. Not in this awful place filled with men who “just want to touch.” Not separated from Prim. I pretend I’m back at Garfield Park, only this time Prim is there too and Peeta’s arms are wrapped protectively around me as we watch her frolic around in the gardens.

            How often had Peeta’s hand touched my wrist? It had never felt like that. It never made my skin crawl.

            “Peeta,” I whisper his name, closing my eyes and letting the tears gathered there fall unhindered. What I wouldn’t give to have his arms wrapped around me right now. Pretending only gets me so far.

            Eventually the sounds of couples making their way upstairs pulls me from my thoughts back to the dingy room. I count the number of doors closing as The Hob quiets down for the night, the show over and the unspeakable acts that take place behind closed doors just beginning. I crawl onto my bed and let silent sobs wrack my body as I pull the covers tightly around me, pretending that Peeta’s warmth is wrapped around me, protecting me from the night as I drift off into an exhausted, fitful sleep.

 

…

 

_Peeta_

            “Peeta,” Bryn Mellark says softly, a confused furrow creasing his brow as he observes his youngest boy, “You’re sure, son? You don’t want to come out to the cottage one last time?”

            “I’ll stay here for the season, Father,” Peeta replies coolly as he kneads the ball of dough in front of him.

            Bryn shoots the youngest Mellark another look of concern before turning to pull out a batch of bread from the oven. He had woken early and found Peeta down in the kitchens working feverishly on dozens of loaves of bread.

            Peeta had been unable to sleep, not an unusual occurrence these last several weeks. Instead of tossing about in bed, frustrated by the shattered heart that still pains him with each breath, he’d dressed and hurried downstairs to bury himself in work. His mother’s annual summer soiree is tonight and he’d rather not think about all the young women she will almost certainly be throwing at him in hopes that he might marry one.

            Bryn had noticed the change in Peeta over the last several weeks. Something had turned off - gone bad; he’s not sure how to describe it, but his son isn’t the happy, light boy he used to be.

            “Mother will prefer it if I stay anyway,” Peeta adds flatly, “She wants me to start courting now that my schooling is finished.”

            Bryn frowns and places a hand over Peeta’s. He used to be able to cover both of the younger man’s with one of his own. When had Peeta grown into a man? It seems as though he looked away for a moment only to find his cherubic baby boy has grownup.

            “Peeta, you know you do not need to marry so young,” Bryn says seriously, wishing his youngest son would look at him and see his sincerity, “You could go to university like your brother. You could come and live out at the cottage-learn the family business there-“

            “I will marry, Father,” Peeta interrupts, his blue eyes bitter when he finally does look up, “What are a few years more or less? It isn’t as though I will ever marry for love.”

            “You can’t be sure of that, Peet,” Bryn argues, surprised by this turn of conversation, “You might meet the right girl-“

            “I won’t!” Peeta pounds his fist into the dough before him with unnecessary force, “I can’t.”

            Bryn puts a floury hand on Peeta’s shoulder, ignoring the dust that spreads over the boy’s shirt as he does, “What happened, Peet? Something has happened.”

            “It doesn’t matter.” He shakes his head, “Nothing can be done about it. It was never real anyway. It was all just a game.”

            Bryn’s heart throbs painfully for his boy. He might not know what is causing his son’s pain- or rather who-but Bryn Mellark suspects Peeta has experienced his first heartbreak and he wishes the younger man would allow him to help. Bryn knows all to well the keen pain that it can cause, that nothing can ever completely heal it. He knows it can eat a man alive if he lets it and Bryn doesn’t want that fate for his sweet, youngest son.

            Peeta brushes his hands off on an old towel, too tired to speak about these matters further, “I should be going, Father. There is plenty to do before the party tonight and I wouldn’t want to be late.”

            Bryn nods, watching the sturdy young man leave the room, a shadow of the bright spirit he used to be and thinks that perhaps his wife will be successful in her vain attempts at furthering the family name after all. It doesn’t appear as though Peeta is going to put up much of a fight to prevent a marriage to a girl solely for her wealth.

 

…

 

            Had she used him as a pawn? _How_ could she use him as a pawn? Surely she must have felt _something_. It’s not possible for him to have felt so much while she felt nothing.

            Peeta lets out a heavy breath as he leans against the wall, safely hidden in an alcove down an abandoned hallway at the back of his family’s mansion. His mother’s grand soiree is in full swing just through the door at the end of the hallway, but he can’t bring himself to join them. All of the best of society has swooped in on the Mellark mansion for what is sure to be the grandest party of the season but he takes no joy in it. He can’t seem to find joy in anything anymore, not when his happiness came solely from her beautiful smile and that rare but delightful laugh.

            No. Peeta Mellark is quite certain that he wants to be as far away from the gaiety as he can. He is in no mood for dancing and laughter tonight. He can’t even bring himself to properly pretend. Ever since Katniss sent that letter all those weeks ago, Peeta has only felt like a shadow of himself, like some hole had been drilled through his soul and he would never be complete again.

            Peeta is so deep in these disturbing thoughts that he doesn’t hear the approaching footfalls until it is too late for him to escape. Instead he backs deeper into the shadows of the alcove and stays as still as possible, hoping the approaching pair do not notice his presence.

            Miss Madge Undersee hurries past, an angry expression distorting her pretty face as she carries her skirts much too high to be proper. She doesn’t seem to care however so long as she can move faster than the man following her whom Peeta recognizes as her father, Mayor Undersee.

            Mayor Undersee lurches forward and grabs the girl’s arm, turning her to face him as she gives an indignant cry, “Madge, you will walk back into that room and apologize to Mr. Danforth at once for your impertinent behavior.” The older man orders harshly. She tries to release her arm from his grip but Peeta can see how the man’s fingers dig into her skin and knows it is no use.

            “I will not, Father,” she spits back with more venom than Peeta has ever heard from her in his many years since he first met her. Madge had always been a quiet, proper lady as far as he was concerned, but it’s little wonder she spent her lunches with Katniss if this is her true personality. The two girls are more alike than he had ever realized, each with a fire and a mind of her own.

            “You will!” her father retorts fiercely, shaking her by the arm in a less than gentle manner. Peeta has never seen the man so livid before and finds it shocking that he could be the same demure mayor that everyone knows and admires.

            The man lowers his face, just inches from Madge’s so their eyes are forced to meet in a deadly glare, “You will,” he repeats coolly, “and you will be the lady your mother raised you to be. Mr. Danforth is an upstanding citizen and a decent man. You should be honored that he has taken an interest in you- an interest, I have been told- that includes a marriage proposal.”

            “HA!” Madge laughs sharply lacking any humor, “You mean to say he is interested in our position and what it might do to elevate his status. I’m not a fool father and I know he’s as upstanding a man as any common criminal-“

            “Don’t you dare say such things, Margaret Undersee!” her father shouts, his voice echoing through the abandoned hallway. Peeta wonders how it’s possible that no one inside the party can hear this exchange, which only gets louder when Mayor Undersee continues.

            “You are an ungrateful, spoiled brat. I haven’t any idea how you turned out this way. Your mother and I gave you the best that money can buy and now you shame us by behaving this way-”

            “I won’t lead Jonathan Danforth to believe I have any interest in a marriage with him,” she says stomping a pretty little foot for emphasis, “I refuse to marry a man who has made his money off the suffering of those less fortunate than himself. Did you even read the article in the newspaper, father? Sixteen girls died in his factory because he had the doors locked so they couldn’t leave their stations! When the fire started they had no escape. They tried to jump from the window-”

            “That is irrelevant, Margaret,” her father says lowly, his tone warning. She opens her mouth to add something but closes it, understanding that arguing is futile at this point.

            “You should never have been reading those newspapers, anyway. A lady has no mind for politics. Mr. Danforth was fined for his indiscretion and has made amends with the families of those girls. Now, you will gather yourself for a few moments and calm that hot head of yours and, when you return to the party, you will accept Mr. Danforth’s company for a dance, or two, or five if he finds your presence so pleasing. You will be the lady I know your mother has trained you to be and you will do away with this sudden interest in independence. Do you understand me, Margaret?”

            She sets her lips in a thin line of distaste but nods stiffly. Her father drops her arm and turns to leave. He’s halfway down the hallway when Madge speaks again.

            “I have no intention to marry anyone, Father, not just Mr. Danforth,” she informs him tersely.

            The man looks over his shoulder for a moment before continuing on his way as if she never spoke. It’s not until he reaches for the doorknob that will lead him back to the party that he replies in an identical tone, “You will have no say in the matter, Margaret.”

            Madge stands, still as stone, until the door clicks closed before she collapses into a heap of skirts on the glossy hardwood floor, dropping her face into her hands. Peeta hesitates for only a moment before stepping from the shadows of his hiding place.

            “Madge,” he says softly and her head snaps up in horror. Her face relaxes when she sees the gentle Mellark boy before her.

            “Oh, Peeta,” she breathes unsteadily, “I apologize that you saw that. I-I-“

            Peeta settles down on the floor next to her, “It’s alright, Madge. I was just trying to escape the party myself.”

            She gives him a watery smile, her pent up anger turning to tears now that her father is gone.

            “It sounds as though we both have a lot on our minds tonight,” he observes quietly, offering her his handkerchief, which she takes with a grateful smile.

            She dabs daintily at her eyes and sniffles lightly, the proper lady he’s always known returning. Never would Peeta have expected Madge to have such a strong mind of her own. She had always been so quiet in school.

            A silence falls between Peeta and Madge now as the minutes tick by and the party moves on without them. Peeta hears a smooth waltz start up behind the doors and wonders if his mother has noticed yet that he is missing. He’s sure she’ll be looking for him soon enough.

            “I won’t do it!” Madge blurts out, her voice shrill after such long period of silence, “I can’t marry him. He’s an awful man.”

            Peeta, unsure of what else to do, nods and waits for her to continue.

            “Father only wants me to marry him because he’s rich. Father invested too much money in some silly invention that never paid off and now he’s looking to gain it back with a fine match using me as his brainless pawn.” Her elegant hands curl into angry fists as she speaks and Peeta realizes that this has been going on for more than one night. He never thought pretty Madge Undersee would be capable of such a fierce anger that she’s displaying now.

            “There must be someone else with just as much money, Madge.” Peeta frowns, “I’m sure you’ll find someone your father accepts who isn’t completely terrible.”

            She shakes her head, “I don’t want to marry. It’s not simply a matter of disliking my father’s choice. I don’t want to marry at all. I want to go to university. I want to study law. I want to fight with the suffragettes. Things are changing, Peeta, and I want to be part of it. I don’t want to be a silly wife gossiping over tea and throwing grand parties for the wealthy. I want to be a part of something bigger than just me.”

            Peeta stares at Madge. Shocked doesn’t really begin to describe how he’s feeling. He’s never heard a girl speak so passionately before. His mother always scoffs at the dinner table when the word ‘suffragette’ is mentioned. A bunch of depraved women who need a firm hand, she always says. Peeta never bothers pointing out that his mother is far more independent than any of the other ladies in her social circle.

            He knows the other women think it’s an abomination for Adelaide Mellark to take charge of her family’s factory. However, he also knows that she was the only child of the family line and had refused to allow the money to pass to her second cousin. She had married Peeta’s father so that the factory might be passed on to him and then refused to allow him any control in the business. Bryn Mellark had never seen the point in arguing with Adelaide over it, instead focusing his attentions to his own family’s factories.

            Madge though, wasn’t anything like Adelaide Mellark. She was a reserved, kind girl. She had always performed well in school but never made any real effort to become part of the more popular social circles, preferring to spend time alone, thinking to herself. Peeta can’t imagine Madge ever meddling like his own mother does, but then again he couldn’t imagine her arguing like she had until tonight.

            Peeta sighs heavily, “Your father won’t let you, though, will he? He doesn’t want you to become a suffragette.”

            “No. He says it would tarnish the family name. I would be going against his campaign platform,” she says, shaking her head slowly, disbelievingly.

            Peeta knows he can’t really understand where Madge is coming from. He recognizes how privileged he is to be born a man. He’s caught himself many days being thankful that he’s not a girl and does not have to suffer through some of the more wearing practices they are expected to endure. But Peeta does know what it’s like to want something he can’t have.

            “I am truly sorry, Madge,” Peeta murmurs.

            She nods, watching him with a knowing look, “You’re trapped too, aren’t you, Peeta? I can see it in your eyes. You look so sad about something.”

            He shrugs weakly, “It’s nothing so unbearable as your circumstances. I’m not being forced to do anything I don’t want.”

             He can’t stop the bitter thought from surfacing in his mind; that he can’t be with the girl he loves.

            She heaves a great, very unladylike, sigh before untangling her legs from her skirts and standing. Peeta follows suite and she smiles up at him for a moment.

            “I suppose nothing will truly be solved tonight,” she says, putting on her bravest face though Peeta can still detect a subtle look of disgust underneath.

            “Thank you, Peeta,” she says holding her hand out for him to take lightly, “for everything.”

            Peeta nods and watches her retreating form until she disappears behind the door. Still reluctant to join the boisterous festivities inside, he wanders out to the veranda where several guests are already standing, whispering sweet nothings to one another. Peeta realizes he has no desire to be here either and is about to turn to leave when he hears his name being called softly to his left.

            “Peet,” Axel’s voice carries from the doorway when he finds his younger brother, “Here, you need this.” He presses a silver flask about the size of Peeta’s palm into his hand.

            “What is it?” Peeta asks, hopeful that for once Axel’s incorrigible personality might serve him well.

            “That, dear brother, is the best moonshine you’ll ever drink.” The middle Mellark informs him and Peeta can smell spirits on his breath. “You have been nothing but dour for the last few weeks. Drink that-a lot of it-baby brother, and it will make you feel proportionately better.”

            Peeta figures the liquor certainly couldn’t hurt and he unscrews the lid of the flask before taking a deep swig. He comes up sputtering and coughing and Axel pats his back sympathetically.

            “Forgot to mention that bit, but the first swig is always the worst so you have that out of the way at least,” Axel assures Peeta before he pushes off the railing they had been leaning against and heads back into the party.

            Peeta is certain a fire is still burning in his stomach and that his throat has sustained burns from the drink as well. His cheeks are hot and he’s sure that they’re a vivid red but that doesn’t stop him from taking several long draws from the flask before stowing it away in his pocket.

            He is still leaning against the railing of the veranda a half an hour later when he hears someone step out on the veranda and call his name in a soft, airy voice. It’s a rather nice voice, Peeta thinks to himself as he turns to see a familiar face.

            Glimmer Hamilton walks gracefully towards him, a demure smile pulling at her lips. He hasn’t seen her since the Charity Ball in January, but she hasn’t changed a bit aside from the color of her dress, now a lovely shade of cream.

            “Miss Hamilton,” Peeta greets with a tiny bow that leaves his head a little dizzy as he straightens up again. She dips into a graceful curtsy.

            “It has been far too long, Mr. Mellark,” she informs him softly as she joins him at the veranda railing. She stands closer than a mere acquaintance should but not so close as to cause a scandal, not that Peeta thinks anyone else on this veranda would be talking.

            “It has been quite a long summer,” Peeta muses. Too long with the endless shattering of his heart every morning he wakes up knowing that _she’s_ married now. But not long enough if it would have meant another day with _her_.  Now though, he would as soon have the dead of winter with which to share his morose feelings.

            “Are you feeling quite well, Peeta?” Glimmer asks with wide, shining, green eyes, “You seem a little glum.”

            She surprises him with her ability to read him. They hardly know one another, after all. Peeta sighs slowly.

            “I would rather talk about anything besides what has me down, Miss Hamilton,” he admits, his head lolling about slightly even though he doesn’t give it permission to.

            She nods with a gentle smile, “Please, call me Glimmer. Miss Hamilton always reminds me of my sister, though she’s Mrs. Heron now.

            “Miss Glimmer then, how are you enjoying the festivities?” Peeta asks though he’s not all that interested in her response. It’s the proper thing to inquire about though seeing as his mother is hostess.

            Glimmer seems to understand this as she gives him a patronizing smile before starting off in an airy voice about who she has had the honor of conversing with tonight. Peeta is surprised when he finds himself laughing as Glimmer tells him of her conversation with old Mr. Schwartz, which involved him mistaking her for a younger memory of his wife.

            He finds himself even more surprised when Glimmer Hamilton’s hand somehow ends up in his hand pressed gently against his lips. Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise and she gives an airy, nervous chuckle.

            “Why, Mr. Mellark, I didn’t realize my story had you so very enthralled,” she comments but doesn’t attempt to pull her hand away from his as he would have expected.

            Instead, the young woman looks out across the lawns and Peeta notices the way the moon strikes her fine, high cheekbones as she squints into the distance.

            “Would you be opposed to a promenade through the gardens, Mr. Mellark? It’s so stiflingly hot inside, I hope I might catch a breeze if we get far enough away from this house.” She turns her emerald eyes back to Peeta who is beginning to look a little worse for wear, a sheen of sweat building on his forehead.

             “I would love to accompany you, Miss Glimmer. I think the fresh air might do me some good.” He offers his elbow and she slides a delicate hand over it before they start at a slow pace out into the damp yards of the mansion.

            Peeta doesn’t quite notice the sway in his step that isn’t normally there, nor does he really understand why it feels as though his head his floating behind him like a balloon on a string. He only drank liquor that one fateful night- the one he tries not to remember- when he received Katniss’s last letter.

            Peeta also isn’t sure quite why Glimmer seems so attractive tonight, her stories that much more amusing. He doesn’t understand why a heat rushes through his blood when he thinks about what her skin might feel like under his hands.

            “These are lovely,” Glimmer states, brushing her hand lightly over the petals of the delicate yellow flowers. He’s shocked that he’s never noticed them before, but of course he never knew their name before. “Don’t they smell lovely?” She questions.

            “Evening primrose,” Peeta says, his tongue thick and heavy in his mouth.

            “Pardon?”

            “The flowers-they’re evening primrose. They only bloom at night.”

            Peeta nearly gags on the words that are nearly identical to the ones Katniss had used when she pointed the blossoms out at Garfield Park.

            “How intriguing!” Glimmer remarks, leaning closer to the blossoms.

            As she straightens up, Peeta's mind relives the memory so eerily similar to this, a day spent with a girl with dark hair that his fingers itched to tangle themselves in. Glimmer really isn’t so bad though, he tells himself. Her stories are enjoyable if simple minded, but at least he knows she’s not going to run off with some man from the Seam. His gut churns at the thought and he shakes his head.

            Peeta isn’t sure why he does it, but somehow his hand finds her chin, lifting it up as he lowers his lips to hers. She gives a surprised gasp but doesn’t pull away, her hands finding their way to rest on his arms.

            It doesn’t feel the same as it did with Katniss. His lips are numb and he’s not sure if he’s making a mess of this kiss or not. It doesn’t matter to Peeta though. Glimmer is a nice enough girl and she is all he has left. Katniss isn’t coming back for him and his mother is still expecting him to get married.

            When Peeta finally pulls his lips from hers and steps away, her eyes are wide and staring blankly at him. He ducks his gaze and fumbles his hands awkwardly for a moment before sighing.

            “Miss Glimmer, I beg your pardon for-“

            “Would you dance with me, Peeta?” she asks softly, surprising him by interrupting his apology. He looks up, seeing her lips curled into a tiny smile, and realizes that she’s not furious or mortified by his lack of propriety. If anything, she looks rather amused.

            Peeta continues to stare dumbly at her, the alcohol- because he finally realizes that this is all probably due to the moonshine- slowing his thoughts down to the speed of molasses. She takes a dainty step forward and places a gloved hand lightly on his arm.

            “A deux-temp is playing I believe.” She smiles gently, looking up at him through her eyelashes, which Peeta notices are exceptionally long and full. She really is quite beautiful. “Would you join me?” she repeats.

            “Uh...” Peeta can’t seem to speak anymore, his tongue like lead in his mouth, so he nods instead, which Glimmer is more than happy to accept as a response. She loops her arm wordlessly through his, leading him away from the gardens and back into the ballroom.

            Peeta isn’t sure how he manages to make his way through not only the deux-temp but a waltz as well before another guest requests Glimmer’s attention. He is quite dizzy from the entire ordeal, but he didn’t fall or step on Glimmer’s toes, which is really quite an accomplishment considering his state. He must be sure to commend her finishing school if he ever happens to visit France because he is quite certain Glimmer is the only thing who saved him from looking a fool.

            After he is finished dancing, Peeta notices his mother standing in a small circle of women across the room. She’s watching him, wearing a shrewd smile that makes his stomach turn uncomfortably. He walks into an empty hallway so he doesn’t have to look at her anymore but the nauseous feeling doesn’t go away. Instead it continues to roil away in his stomach. Perhaps it wasn’t his mother’s look that made him sick - no, it definitely wasn’t.

            Peeta hurries over to the nearest potted plant and empties the contents of his stomach, which consists almost entirely of moonshine, as quietly as possible.

            “Oh, Jesus, Peet,” Glenn says from over his shoulders and Peeta wishes he could fall through a hole in the ground. He never wanted his brother to see him drunk again after that one horrid night and yet here he is.

            “I’ll be okay, Glenn,” Peeta assures his older brother as calmly as possible while he dabs a handkerchief over his lips and wipes the sweat from his forehead.

            “How did you manage it this time, Peet?” Glenn asks, clamping a hand firmly on his youngest brother’s shoulder, “Was it Axel again?”

            Peeta nods, “Forgot to mention how strong the moonshine was.” He pulls out the tiny metal flask. Glenn opens it to take a sniff, grimaces, and shuts it immediately.

            “You should retire and sleep it off. I’ll tell mother you felt ill - that the heat got to you,” Glenn suggests.

            “I kissed her,” Peeta whispers, the words escaping from his lips on a sigh.

            “Kissed who?” Glenn asks, his brow creasing in confusion.

            “Glimmer Hamilton,” he responds mechanically.

            Glenn nods with a sigh of his own, “Well, Peet, that’s your choice. Are you sure you meant to? Mother is bound to find out.”

            “I did-mean to, I mean.” Peeta shrugs, “Glimmer isn’t so bad. She’s polite, pretty, well-bred-“

            “You’re starting to sound like Mother,” Glenn interrupts him, “Go to bed, Peet. We can talk about it in the morning if you still want to.”

            Peeta doesn’t argue, turning unsteadily toward the servant’s staircase instead and making his way toward his suite upstairs. He’s not entirely sure how he manages to find himself under the soft, downy quilt of his bed, but attributes it to his body’s muscle memory before he quickly lets the dark haze of alcohol and exhaustion wash over him.

 

…

 

            He immediately recognizes the soft voice calling out his name. It’s only one word but it seems to rip his heart cleanly from his chest as it echoes against the black walls surrounding him.

            Peeta looks around and realizes he’s in a factory, a dark, seemingly abandoned factory. He frowns, unable to remember ever waking up let alone making it all the way to the industrial part of the city.

            “Katniss?” Peeta calls out, his voice echoing between the machinery as he takes a step deeper into the dark depths of this factory.

            A quiet whimper carries back to him and Peeta takes off suddenly towards it, his heart racing against his chest and jumping into his throat all at once. She’s here. Katniss is here. That sound though. Peeta thinks she must be hurt.

            Peeta is so preoccupied with locating where Katniss’s cries are coming from that he doesn’t notice that the floors are suddenly slippery, nor does he notice the wet sounds his tread starts to make with each step. It’s not until a warm drip lands on the back of his neck on the thin sliver of skin that isn’t covered either by his blonde curls or the collar of his shirt that Peeta realizes something is amiss.

            He squints up at the ceiling, calling out Katniss’s name but her cries are still so distant it’s as though he hasn’t made any progress towards her at all. All at once, the dripping picks up speed. Peeta can smell it before the moonlight streaming through the window allows him to see it. Blood. Reeking, metallic blood everywhere. The fine hairs on the back of his neck prickle as they stand up and he tries to rub the sticky liquid from his body with a shudder.

            He takes several steps back, although it does no good considering the blood is coming from above him rather than from anything beside him. The thud of his back hitting something solid sends him jumping several feet in the opposite direction, the metal clanking of chains echoing between the dripping of blood.

            Suddenly, the room is flooded with light and Peeta lets out a guttural cry as he reels backward, losing his footing on the slick floor and falling backwards into the blood pooling on the ground. His stomach curdles as he comes eye to eye with an entire line of cattle, slaughtered and hanging from a series of chains along a line where men would typically be working at gutting and cleaning them.

            “Katniss!” he shouts, his voice an octave higher than it normally is, giving away his terror. He wishes he didn’t sound so weak when Katniss clearly needs him.

            Somehow, Peeta pushes himself back to his feet, wiping the blood on his hands over the thighs of his slacks as he walks. He tries his best not to think about the blood that continues to drip from overhead. When he finds a door at the opposite end of the factory, he calls Katniss’s name one last time before letting himself out of the hellish room.

            Her whimpers echo more clearly in this room though the air is heavy, as though someone drew a bath, or spent the entire day with the bread ovens fired and the window closed.

            “Peeta?” Katniss calls out, his name punctuated by a hacking cough.

            He walks further into the room towards the source of her voice, his gut churning away as he frantically searches around factory machines. As he walks, a strange dust kicks up into the air. He’s in a cotton mill, he quickly realizes, coughing as the dust stings his eyes and sears against the inside of his throat.

            Peeta tries to walk more nimbly in hopes that the dust will stop rising, but it seems to have taken on a mind of it’s own, rising up from the floor like steam, like a fog, choking his breath with each step. Katniss doesn’t call out to him anymore. Instead her coughs are the only sound that guides him towards her.

            Katniss’s sudden, shrill scream pierces the air, coming from the opposite end of the factory. Peeta is half mad with fear at the sound, but his feet carry him forward through another heavy, factory door into a textile mill, his mother’s textile mill.

            Another scream comes from above and Peeta’s head snaps back, his eyes roving the rafters only finding several black birds- like ravens, but they don’t look quite right. As if they realize he’s watching, the birds all begin screeching, each call more like Katniss’s scream than the next; each shriek tearing his soul into smaller shreds as Peeta realizes he might never find her.

            He searches the isles, under and between each massive machine, his hands clamped firmly over his ears in hopes to shut out the horrid noise around him. When he reaches the other end of the room however, Katniss is still missing and the tears streaming down his cheeks give away the effect the awful birds are having on him.

            Peeta runs through the doorway, the birds instantly falling silent as he finds himself outside, in the cold dark streets of the industrial district of the city. He turns around full circle, trying to gauge which block of the city he finds himself on. He almost would have missed her had she not rustled, her form catching the light and dropping a shadow on the ground before him.

            “Katniss!” Peeta is at her side in an instant, his hands gently roaming her arms, her hair, her face.

            “Peeta,” She answers hollowly, her cold hands reaching up to bury themselves in the curls at the back of his head.

            She is so frail beneath his hands, as though she might snap in two if he touches her the wrong way. She’s so tiny, so thin. She’s starving again, much closer to death than he’s seen her in a long while.

            “Are you alright? Katniss, what are you doing here?” Peeta asks softly, brushing her loose, dark locks back from her face, searching for any signs of injury but he finds none.

            “I miss you,” she says weakly, her grey eyes flitting across his face.

            Peeta leans forward, pressing his lips to her chilled forehead, “Then let me take you home. Let me take care of you,” he begs.

            She fixes him with a sad gaze, “I can’t, Peeta.” The tears welling up in her eyes are unmistakable.

            “Why not?” Peeta asks, tangling his hands through her dark, coarse hair, pressing his cheek to hers so that his lips are even with her ear, “Why won’t you let me help you?”

            “You can’t,” she murmurs, settling her body closer to his, as though she finds any space between them unbearable, “You can’t help, Peeta.” Her voice cracks and he pulls her as close as he can when he feels her body tremble against his.

            “Let me try,” he pleads but she shakes her head before he’s even able to finish the short sentence.

            “You can’t.”

            Her voice sounds distant as she speaks and Peeta realizes that she’s somehow drifting away from him though she was in his arms only moments earlier. He tries to scramble against the force separating them but his mind surfaces from the dream before he’s able to return to her.

            She was right. He couldn’t help her. His head throbs and when he opens his eyes, the light sends a stab of pain shooting to the back of his skull. He notices a tall glass of water that someone must have placed on the bedside table sometime during the night. Slowly, he reaches out and takes a long gulp, which is like a bit of heaven when it hits his parched tongue.

            Peeta tries to convince himself that is was all just a dream, a trick played by his drunken mind to torture him with the memory of Katniss, but the images have shaken him and he sends word to Carl that he should make his way to the Mellark Mansion promptly this morning.

            Peeta tries to divert himself while he waits by drawing, but his hand trembles anxiously and his body itches for action. When Carl finally enters the suite, the older man is pacing the floor anxiously in the morning light, trying to ignore the spinning the alcohol seems to have left behind in his mind.

            “Sir?” Carl asks hesitantly. Peeta has noticed that the boy approaches him like this more often than not of late and he suspects that he must truly be a mess if the Seam boy is concerned about speaking with him.

            Peeta runs a hand haphazardly through his already messy curls, “Carl, we need to find her. I need to know. I need to be sure she’s safe, that she’s better off.”

            Carl nods with a sympathetic look in his eyes.

            “There is no place you should leave unsearched, Carl,” Peeta says desperately to the younger boy.

            He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. Katniss is a married woman now. It’s really no use searching for her when he will never be able to have her again, but he needs to know. He needs to know that she is safe and loved and cared for.

            “I need to find her,” Peeta whispers, his words heavy with a pain that never seems to go away these days.

            Carl frowns up at his master but nods anyway. He’s noticed the way Primrose Everdeen seems burdened by a sadness that wasn’t there before. Her cheeks aren’t nearly as hollow, but her soul seems emptier since Katniss left. Carl wants to find Katniss just as much as Peeta albeit for different reasons.

            “I won’t let you down, Mr. Mellark,” Carl assures him, “But are you sure she’s still in the city?”

            Peeta’s heart stills for a long moment. It had never occurred to him that she might have left the only place she’s ever known. She might be in another city now or perhaps even living in the countryside. A vision of her walking through his father’s wheat fields crosses his mind, stabbing his chest mercilessly. What he wouldn’t give to take her there, away from the rest of the world, where he could keep her safe in his embrace.

            Peeta shakes his head slowly, both to rid his mind of the vision and to answer Carl, “I don’t know.” His voice is weak and shuddering, “I need to see her one last time, Carl.”

            Carl reaches out a small hand, giving Peeta’s arm a gentle squeeze with a firm nod before turning and leaving as silently as he arrived. Peeta lays back in bed, staring up at the ceiling as he tries to fight the despair that threatens to overwhelm him with each breath. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if Carl never finds her. It’s unthinkable. He’s quite certain he can’t survive without her and the thought alone is terrifying.

 

…

 

_Katniss_

 

 

            “Where is she?” The shout from the front of the saloon is familiar. Dread fills me before my mind even has a chance to register who the voice belongs to.

            “Don’t see why it’s any business of yours, boy,” Haymitch’s gruff reply carries into the back room before a fist slams against something, probably the bar.

            “Don’t toy with me, old man.”

            Haymitch’s dry laugh follows and I decide it’s best just to face whatever’s coming rather than let things continue to escalate.

            “Gale,” I call from the doorway, gaining his attention instantly and he looks furious.

            “Catnip, what in God’s name is going on?” he demands, quickly crossing the room and lowering his voice, though it still sounds just as deadly when it’s quieter.

            I haven’t been at The Hob all that long, but to be completely honest I thought he would find out I was missing sooner than this. He’s my dearest friend and he would never have believed that I ran off and eloped with a man he’d never even heard of. It begs to question how he knew I would be at The Hob but seeing him here now floods me with a homesickness I haven’t felt since that first night I performed.

            “Gale,” I start but stop. What do I tell him? How do I explain how I got to this point? If I think he’s furious now, just wait until he hears the truth. I know he’ll be disappointed in me.

            “She’s singing in the shows at night, boy,” Haymitch pipes up from his place behind the bar, relieving me of the painful task of breaking the news, “But I think you already knew that.”

            Gale looks at me, eyes wide, demanding that I tell him the truth of the matter, pleading for me to give him some reasonable excuse as to why I am here at The Hob so early in the morning. When I don’t attempt to speak, his shoulders visibly slump and he runs a hand over his dark hair, leaving it a hopeless mess that would drive Hazelle mad.

            “When Thom’s little brother mentioned something, I didn’t want to believe it,” he mutters, wringing his calloused hands against one another, “It took me a week to gather the courage to come here and see for myself. Catnip, why would you do this?” he asks sadly, settling dejectedly into a chair at the nearest table.

            “Prizefighting wasn’t an option for me,” I answer softly because it’s the only way I can really show him my desperation. He of all people should understand. Gale has gone to the limits to protect his family as well.

            We’re both silent for a long while before he lets out a tired sigh, leaning forward so his elbows are balanced on his knees. Somehow I manage to look him in the eyes and find the familiar shade of grey already watching me.

            “You know there is no going back now, Katniss,” he murmurs, the sorrow in his voice tugging at my chest, “You’ll be considered a ruined woman-“

            “Gale, I haven’t-“ I start to defend my reputation. No matter what anyone else thinks, I can’t have him thinking I have sunk so low as to sell my body.

            He shakes his head slowly before I can even finish, “I believe you, Katniss, but that doesn’t matter. In the eyes of the rest of the world, you are ruined simply by being associated with a place like this.”

            I know this of course, but something eases within me knowing that Gale at least won’t think the same thoughts. Another long silence falls between us, each of us contemplating what kind of world we must live in that two young people like ourselves should be forced into such circumstances as we are.

            “I’ll look after them,” he promises in a low tone, “I want you to know that, Katniss. I’ll look after them as my own family.”

            I lean forward, my hands shakily finding his as I try desperately to hold back a sob that his words have summoned inside of me. I wish things were different. I wish it could have been a realistic possibility for us to run off and made a living on a farm like he had once dreamed not all that long ago. Things aren’t different though, and we have both been forced into coming to terms with that fact.

            “Thank you,” I whisper as his rough, worn hands grip mine fiercely, “I love you, Gale.”

            “You know I love you too, Catnip,” he shakes his head slowly, “I wish I could do more.”

            “It’s enough,” I counter firmly, “Just make sure Prim is safe. That’s more than enough.”

            One of his thick hands leaves mine, reaching up to tug gently on the braid resting over my shoulder, “You just be safe, too, Katniss. Don’t you let some man take advantage of you,” his words are choked as he speaks and we both know that, honestly, I already am. I let them look at me, lust after me night after night. But I understand what he means and I nod. He doesn’t want me to work in side dealings just as Haymitch has forbade. Even now, he’s still trying to protect me in what small way he can.

            “How did you know I was here?” I ask meekly after a moment.

            He lets out a soft snort, “Thom’s little brother was here two weeks ago. Mentioned seeing a girl who reminded him of you and could sing like a songbird. I stopped by your place on the way home one night and when your mother said you moved away… I knew.”

            A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth despite the heaviness of our conversation. Gale and I have always had a natural intuition about one another that amazed our families.

            “How is your fighting going?” I question, trying to bring some normalcy to our encounter. This has become our normal now; two occupations that must remain hidden under the cloak of night. I note the yellowing bruise just behind his right ear, almost covered by his dark hairline.

            He smiles ruefully, “As well as can be expected. I win more often than not.” He shrugs, “I’m bigger than a lot of the guys there.”

            “I can imagine.” I reply with a little laugh as I settle into a chair beside him. Sae appears out of thin air with two cups of coffee, which she settles onto the table before disappearing back behind the counter again.

            Gale sips at his gratefully and chuckles as well. If we weren’t both here in The Hob, I could almost pretend this was a normal weekend meeting with him. It dawns on me just how much I have missed his presence in my life. Even before I left for The Hob we hardly saw one another, both to busy trying to survive to find time for one another. This moment is nice and I soak in every second of it I can. Something about his manner leads me to believe he feels the same.

            He stays until late morning, it being Sunday and his one day off from the factory he started working in after the incident with Thread. In fact, Gale doesn’t make to leave until Johanna and Clove wander downstairs for a quick lunch before they begin to prepare for our show this evening.

            “You can come sometime you know,” I offer to him as I walk with him to the door.

            He frowns, a deep crease marring the normally smooth expanse of his forehead, “I don’t know about that, Catnip. I don’t want to see you like that.”

            “I don’t do anything besides sing.” I smile softly, “But I understand if you don’t come. I just wanted you to know that you could, that I am not trying to hide from you.”

            He nods, leaning forward and wrapping me in a warm hug as he murmurs his final goodbyes against my hair. I watch him go until he turns the corner at the end of the block returning to a life that I once knew but now just seems like a distant memory.

           

…

 

            “That was a beautiful song you performed earlier,” a cool voice says from just behind me where I’m seated at a table full of working men.

            It seems like a lifetime since I started singing at The Hob, nights all string together with a seemingly endless line of men jostling one another to get a closer look at the Girl on Fire. I don’t know how word travelled so quickly. I’m not sure why they flock in droves to hear me sing.

            I’m not particularly pretty. I don’t dance provocatively. I don’t even draw people to me with a naturally sociable personality. But they do come. Men of all ages and social standings. Haymitch can’t seem to believe it either, though he’s not complaining with the extra profit he makes by selling out the show each night with standing room only.

            I turn in the direction of the smooth voice to find a man of about thirty, attractive and clean cut with a well-trimmed beard, smiling at me. I’ve never seen him before, which at this point is quite unusual since most of the men are semi-regulars depending on the night and the weather. The men I was speaking with sober up immediately and shuffle off towards other tables without another word, leaving me alone with the stranger.

            “I admit, I don’t believe I have ever been quite so fascinated with one of Haymitch’s girls- perhaps any performer for that matter,” he sticks out a gloved hand, which causes me to pause for a moment since this man is clearly not from the working class, especially not with fine kidskin gloves like those.

            Occasionally men from the upper class will find their way to The Hob, but they usually do their best to blend in and make themselves scarce, often buying private time with a lady of their choosing as soon as the show is finished. I’ve never seen one sitting around in the saloon, socializing with others who could identify them later.

            “I’m Seneca Crane.” He offers with a winning smile, one that I’m sure he has been trained to give since he was born. “I don’t believe I have ever caught your name, unless you were baptized The Girl On Fire, that is.”

            He reaches out for my hand, as gentlemen often do, and presses his lips gently to the soft skin on the back of my hand. I do my best to hide my surprise, instead trying to pass it off as demureness as I duck my gaze, “It is not my policy to provide patrons with my name.”

            This is the simple truth. The only way I can attempt to protect Prim and her reputation is to hide the identity I grew up with.

            “A shame,” Seneca replies smoothly, “I am sure a lady as exotically beautiful as you would have an equally intriguing name.”

            The gaze he levels at me sends a shiver through my spine and not the pleasurable type that Peeta always managed to elicit. This shiver leaves me feeling anxious, looking for some legitimate route of escape from this befuddling man.

            I catch Johanna’s eye from across the room and her look tells me all I need to know. Whoever Seneca Crane is, he’s not someone I want to associate with for long. I’m just wracking my mind for an excuse to part ways with the handsome man when Haymitch’s gravely voice speaks from beside me.

            “What are you doing here, Crane?”

            “Just having a look at The Girl On Fire for myself,” the younger man replies genially, “There are all kinds of whispers roaming the darker rooms of the city and I wanted to see if any of them were true.”

            “And?” Haymitch takes a step closer to me. Never in my life been more grateful for the smell of stale alcohol. Something about the man before me doesn’t settle right, leaving my belly twisting nervously.

            “And I find I am not at all displeased with what I have seen,” Mr. Crane sends me another smile that leaves me taking a hesitant step back. My blood chills under his watchful gaze. Something tells me that this is one man it would have been better to disappoint.

            “Wonderful,” Haymitch says tensely, motioning subtly for me to back farther away, which I do.

            “How much would we be talking about if I were to purchase her contract from you?” Seneca asks. His inquiry causes me to freeze, blood rushing from my cheeks as I pale with understanding.

            “You know none of my girls are here under contract, Crane,” Haymitch spits venomously. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard him speak so passionately before. “You know I don’t deal in that kind of business.”

            “A loss to your establishment and bank account, I’m certain.” Seneca replies, not at all unsettled by Haymitch’s reaction, “Then it is probably best if I speak to the lady myself since you have no legal right to speak for her.”

            As he turns to face me again, I wish I would have gotten farther away from their conversation when I had the chance. His cold eyes find me and my stomach twists into knots.

            “My dear, how much is Haymitch paying you to sing for him?” he asks, a strange curl pulling at his mouth somewhere between a smile and a snarl, “I assure you I could provide at least double what he is paying should you come to The Arena.”

            My face blanches at his offer. I have heard of The Arena by now. It only takes a few days in an establishment such as The Hob to learn of the most famous brothels in the city, of which The Arena is one.

            “Sir,” I say, trying to sound utterly offended but my voice tremors in a way that sounds more hesitant than anything. I sound just as afraid of him as I feel. “I do not-I wouldn’t...“

            “She doesn’t deal in what goes on upstairs,” Haymitch cuts in, saving me from speaking the words myself.

            “My apologies,” Seneca says earnestly, placing a gloved hand over his heart, “Clearly I’ve misjudged the situation. It really is a pity.”

            I duck my gaze to avoid the disappointed glance he sends me.

            “If you ever do change your mind, The Arena would be honored to have you sing for us, Miss,” Seneca says, producing a hat from thin air. He gives a gentleman’s bow, “It was truly my pleasure to meet you.”

 

…

 

            “Here,” Clove says, shoving a small, cloth bundle into my hands.

            “What is this?” I ask with a frown, lowering my leg from the stool where I had been pulling on the silk stockings that Madame Trinket ordered me to wear tonight.

            “A late birthday gift,” Clove rolls her eyes. “Johanna insisted that you needed one and she paid me handsomely to get it for you.”

            My frown deepens as I unroll the nondescript white cloth to reveal the gleaming dagger inside, “What on earth would I ever need this for?”

            “Well, Johanna has an extra belt so you can keep it on your leg of course,” Clove answers with a heavy sigh as though that explains everything.

            When she finally notices me staring at the knife with a deep furrow in my brow, she lifts up her own skirt.

            “Most of the girls wear one.”

            “Why?” I ask, astounded that I have never heard of this before.

            “You never know when you might need to protect yourself.” Clove shrugs, her hips swaying slightly as she leaves the room adding, “Especially in our line of business.”

            I hurriedly get to my feet, climbing the stairs and finding Johanna’s door slightly ajar. I knock lightly, “Johanna?”

            “Come in.” She replies and I find her at the small mirror in her room, pinning a new trinket in her hair made of silver and crystals, “Do you like it? Mr. Carmichael gave it to me last night.”

            I nod noncommittally. I still don’t understand how she can spend the night with a married man like that and take gifts from him. She told me once that it doesn’t mean anything and that he of all people can afford to buy her gifts. He does own several stores in the shopping district after all, but it still doesn’t seem right.

            She turns to face me once she has the trinket fixed in her hair to her liking, “Did Clove give you that?” She nods to the knife in my hand.

            “Yes,” I answer, my knuckles whitening on the hilt of the weapon, “She said you wanted me to have it.”

            Johanna nods, “You need one. I don’t care if you don’t go up into the rooms with men like most of us girls. I saw the way Crane looked at you and you’re better safe than sorry.”

            “What do you mean?” I frown. When Crane left, I thought that would be the end of it. I would never make contact with him and he obviously understands that I have no interest in working at The Arena.

            Johanna stares at me for a long while and the silence begins to stretch out uncomfortably between us before she seems to decide something and shuts the door to her room.

            “Katniss, did you know anything about Crane, or The Arena before the other night?” she asks quietly, placing a hand on my shoulder and leading me to sit down at the rickety table.

            “I know that The Arena is a brothel. You told me that much,” I admit, suddenly aware that there must be more that she didn’t tell me.

            “What do you know about Coriolanus Snow?” she asks, an eyebrow arched already certain that I will recognize the name.

            “He’s with the mob,” I reply simply. Coriolanus Snow is a household name these days after that big bank heist that the police could never pin on him.

            Johanna nods slowly, waiting for me to say more, but when I don’t she continues for me, “Crane might own The Arena on paper, but the money all belongs to Snow. Crane is just his puppet with a respectable face.”

            A scowl creases my brow as the meaning of her words sinks in. Suddenly the air seems too thin in the small bedroom and I sink to sit on the worn mattress.

            “You don’t want Seneca Crane’s attention, Katniss,” Johanna adds gently, settling herself beside me with her hands in her lap, “You will find that he gets whatever he wants one way or another.”

            “He wanted me to work at The Arena,” I whisper, my voice suddenly hoarse as fear strikes my body stiff, “but I told him no.”

            Johanna shakes her head solemnly, “That doesn’t mean it’s over. I expect he will be back- sooner rather than later- and next time he’ll bring reinforcement. He will be sure to have a plan-some way to woo you.”

            “Woo me?” I repeat, bringing a sad smile to her lips.

            “Perhaps woo isn’t the best word.” She shrugs, “Persuade? Either way, you had better keep that dagger close. You might find use for it sooner than you would like to imagine.”

            I squint at the woman beside me, scrutinizing her voluptuous form, wondering why she has decided to help me- befriend me. I ask her as much a few moments later when I can’t think of any reason our friendship might prove useful to her.

            She shrugs once more, “I don’t know. Maybe it’s nice to see a girl with a little bit of virtue for once. Or perhaps I just detest Seneca Crane.”

            “Why do you dislike him so?” I ask as she stands, ushering me toward the door of her room so she can be alone to finish preparing for the evening’s show.

            “He preys on poor girls whose families have no other way to survive,” Johanna answers coolly, her voice clipped and her eyes glazed, somewhere far far away from this little room above the saloon, “My sister worked for him once.”

            I frown as I step into the hallway and her form blocks the doorway, “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

            “I don’t,” she states flatly, “Not anymore at least. I will see you at the show.”

            She doesn’t wait for me to answer before shutting the door in my face, a soft click echoing in the quiet hall as the door latches into place.

            I make my way back to my own room, stunned by Johanna’s sudden revelation about her sister. One thing is for certain as I slip into a gown for this evening’s show- I refuse to work in Seneca Crane’s establishment. How I might go about rebuffing any future offers is a question I think I will be mulling over for a long while yet. If anything Johanna said was true, he’s a much more dangerous man than I had originally thought and he sounds as though he isn’t one to take no for an easy answer either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to let me know what you thought! I'd love to hear from you!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for taking the time to read and review the last chapter. You are all wonderful and keep me motivated even on the days when this story fights me tooth and nail. As usual, an extra big thanks to Terri (populardarling) for betaing this chapter for me.

ADAD- Chapter 10

 

_Katniss_

 

            Standing at the back door of The Hob, I close my eyes and take a deep breath, allowing the crisp fall air to fill my lungs with a chill that leaves me shivering. On cool mornings such as this one, the Seam air feels just a little bit cleaner. I can almost imagine I am somewhere outside of the city; somewhere with lots of trees and open, grassy hills.

            Eventually though, I must open my eyes again. There’s no pretending then. I’m still stuck in the Seam, at the bottom of the heap, really. The Hob is a strange sort of home. Even now, when I’ve woken up far earlier than most of the other girls, there are the morning sounds with which I’ve become familiar. Sae has already set to work in the dining room of the saloon. Rue will come bustling through the door any minute. Haymitch’s loud snore can be heard in the tiny room below the stairs that lead to the sleeping quarters of all the girls.

            “Well, hello there, Miss Katniss,” a silky voice greets from just above my right shoulder. I frown; no one knows my name besides those who work at The Hob and I don’t recognize this voice. I turn to find myself face to face with one of the most handsome men I have ever seen. A blush immediately rushes to my cheeks when I realize the close proximity of our bodies and the smoldering look he’s leveling at me.

            His copper hair glints in the dim lighting of the back room so that it nearly looks like gold. Even beneath his immaculate grey, pinstriped suit, I can tell his body is toned from long days of physical labor. It’s perplexing though since most men who do hard labor could never afford to dress like this. However, the most striking characteristic about the man standing far too close to me, is his eyes, a deep blue green that reminds me of the lake on a clear summer day.

            “I beg your pardon, but do I know you?” I ask, trying to back away but discovering I’m already pressed up against the doorframe and there’s nowhere for me to escape.

            “Not yet.” The young man smiles, teeth perfectly white like the pearls ladies so often wear around their necks. “Sugar cube?” he offers holding out a handful of the white cubes that are meant for tea or coffee.

            I frown at his odd behavior. I’ve never seen anyone older than seven years of age eat a sugar cube like he is now, munching happily as he gives me a cheeky grin. I shake my head politely in refusal but the man simply laughs.

            “Your loss then, Miss Katniss. First thing I learned after setting out on the fishing boats, if you see something sweet, you better grab it quick before it’s too late,” he says with a smirk, leaving me to decide whether he simply means a sweet treat or he if he’s insinuating something more.

            “Finnick, leave the poor girl alone. She’s off limits,” Johanna says as she slips downstairs, still dressed only in her shift, eyes heavy with sleep, “You’ll have Haymitch to answer to if you go after her virtue.”

            My cheeks blaze under the young man’s attentive gaze while a renewed grin breaks over his face. He simply shrugs in a very unconcerned manner before popping another sugar cube in his mouth.

            “Oh well, one can’t blame a man for trying, can they?” he whispers conspiratorially to me. I laugh mostly out of nervousness, although the grin he’s wearing somehow puts me at ease. Something tells me this man isn’t going to be much of a threat.

            He holds a calloused, but impeccably clean, hand out to me. “Finnick Odair: Captain of the Adventure.”

            I place my hand in his with a skeptical look. “And which adventure might that be?”

            He blinks a moment, still holding my hand, before he lets out a deep resounding laugh. I scowl at his rudeness.

            “Not adventure like that,” he clarifies once he catches his breath again, eyes twinkling happily. “I’m the captain of _The_ Adventure, as in the boat. A fishing boat.”

            He flashes another brilliant smile at me that I can’t help but return despite my momentary annoyance. He certainly is charming; I can’t deny Mr. Odair that.

            “Is that you back here messing around in my hen house, Finnick?” Haymitch’s voice calls just before the door to his room under the staircase swings open, followed shortly by the appearance of his rumpled form in the doorway.

            “It is. And how are you, Haymitch? Still as drunk as ever, I hope?” Finnick leaves my side and moves to shake Haymitch’s hand firmly. Judging by the look Haymitch gives the other man, I would guess they were old friends.

            “Not as often as I like,” the older man responds fondly before glancing back at me and frowning. “You know my newest girl, Katniss, doesn’t go upstairs, Finnick. She’s too young to be dealing in that.”

            “Johanna already informed me. No need to worry though. We were simply getting to know one another,” Finnick replies winking at me over his shoulder.

            A smile plays at my lips and I shake my head before turning to catch view of the sun just peaking between the rows of Seam buildings.

            “Yes, well, just watch how you get to know her, Mr. Odair. I don’t want any slip ups,” Haymitch calls over his shoulder as he makes his way to the front room for something to eat, or more likely, something to drink.

            Mr. Odair makes his way to my side again, fingering a fine gold chain that leads to a pocket watch nestled safely away, “It is quite a sight is it not?” He questions, giving me a sideways glance before looking back out at the city, “There’s no other city quite like it.”

            “I suppose not,” I reason softly, though its uniqueness is not particularly endearing in my mind. “How did you know my name, Mr. Odair?”

            “Your young friend Rue and I had a nice chat before I made my way back here. Where did you think I got all the sugar cubes from?” He pulls another handful from his suit coat pocket to prove his point.

            “I figured you snuck them from behind the counter,” I shrug, earning a chuckle from the handsome man.

            “No need to steal when you are as pretty as you or me, Katniss. All we need to do is ask and we shall receive.” I have not found his logic to be true in my life. Another wink from him sets my cheeks burning again. Mr. Odair stares at me for a long while, a surprised look plastered on his face, “Well, you really are Haymitch’s innocent little flower aren’t you?”

            I duck my gaze, but he continues on.

            “Where on earth did he find a girl like you?” he questions, his tone almost sad as a finger finds my chin and lifts it so I’m force to look into those sea-green eyes again.

            “I- it does-“ I start but the words come out squeaky and weak. I clear my throat before trying again, “It doesn’t matter where he found me; I’m here now.”

            A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, this one more genuine than those before it, though not nearly as blinding. “You are a girl with many secrets, Katniss. I can tell. So I should confess, I am a collector of secrets.”

            I expect to find a joke in his eyes, but there isn’t one. Whatever Mr. Odair means by his words, it’s the honest truth and not some silly game. I frown, but before I get the chance to ask him what he means, Johanna is calling his name from the front room, asking if he’d like any coffee.

            “Keep your chin up, Katniss,” he says, reaching to tuck a stray bit of hair behind my ear before turning to walk back into the front room and shouting that he would indeed love some coffee with plenty of sugar.

 

…

 

            “Wonderful performance,” Finnick commends as soon as he spots me when he passes into the back room. I can tell he’s had a bit to drink by the way he sways ever so slightly as he approaches me. He certainly must be a good friend of Haymitch’s if he’s allowed back here to socialize with us. Haymitch keeps a strict rule of employees only in the back room.

            I glance at him in the mirror and can’t help but return the smile he gives me. “Thank you.”

            “Have you ever seen a ruby, Katniss?” he questions as he settles onto a small stool beside me. He looks ridiculous, such a tall man perched on such a small seat, but he doesn’t seem to think anything of it.

            I shake my head curiously and he reaches into his pocket, pulling out an intricate pocket watch, sparkling with gems across its cover. He turns it slightly, allowing the light of the lamps to glint off of its surface. I know enough of gems to recognize the large red one in the center as the ruby.

            “It reminds me of you,” Finnick muses quietly. “Under the lights, it looks like it is made of fire. They say one who carries a ruby may walk with courage because it protects them from danger.”

            I stare at him curiously. His voice is smooth and calming as he tells his story. There’s something somber about him though. Something I can’t quite place.

            “You, Katniss,” Finnick assures me, “you have a fire inside of you that will swell one day and change the world. Mark my word.”

            He gives me a lopsided grin before standing without another word and walking away. He shuffles around the room for a while, speaking with each of the other girls in turn. They all seem taken with his natural charm, though he doesn’t speak with any of them for a particularly long amount of time.

            “You’re making a mess of it,” Johanna scolds as she steps up beside me, swatting my hands away from where they are absently playing with my hair so she can replace the pins that I started fiddling with the second I walked off the stage.

            “Why hasn’t Mr. Odair been in our audience before?” I ask out of genuine curiosity, my eyes following his agile form around the room. All the women seem to know him well enough, but I’ve been working here for months and never caught sight of the dashing man.

            “I suppose he’s been out sailing on the Atlantic Ocean catching fish. That’s usually why he doesn’t come for months at a time,” Johanna murmurs, deeply concentrated in pinning a curl to my head. “He will be around for a while now I expect. He’ll fish on the Great Lakes while he takes care of other business.”

            “What other business would a fisherman have in this city?”

            Johanna’s chocolate eyes lock with mine in the reflection of the mirror. “There is plenty of business to be had, Katniss,” she states evasively.

            I wonder what she means by this, what sort of business an ocean fisherman would have in the middle of the country. She doesn’t give me a moment to ask though and perhaps it’s best that way. The less I know, the less complicated things will be. My life is already complicated enough as it is.

            Johanna shoots a wicked smile my way in the mirror. “Once he finally makes it here, he usually enjoys the relaxing company of one of us girls. You can imagine the attention he needs after being out on a boat full of men for months.”

            A familiar blush rises to my cheeks. I do not need to imagine such things. At the end of the evenings, I can often hear more than enough going on upstairs to sate any interest I may ever have had.

            “He’s very gentle about it though,” Johanna says with a chuckle at my flustered appearance. “He spends most of the time talking actually. Says it’s nice just to hear the cadence of a feminine voice. A real charmer Finnick Odair is,” she says with a roll of her eyes as she pushes the last pin into my hair and walks away without goodbye.

            It’s a quiet night after that, not entirely unusual for a day in the middle of the week. Most men are too tired to drag themselves into The Hob after working the factories all day. I find myself in the back room after a few hours of socializing, the room completely empty save for myself. All of the girls have already retired upstairs for the evening with their suitors of the night. Even Haymitch’s heavy snores can be heard from the saloon where he’s surely passed out at one of the tables with a bottle of whiskey in one hand.

            On nights like these, when everything is so very quiet, I find it impossible to keep Peeta from creeping into my mind. His soft whispered words. The feeling of his hair between my fingers. The way his eyes would darken just before he kissed me.

            I’m so preoccupied by these thoughts that I don’t hear the quiet footsteps approaching me. A hand lands on my shoulder. I jump, spinning around on my heels to come face to face with a man I remember from the audience. In fact, he’s become a regular over the last several weeks. He sticks in my mind, always watching and smiling at me, but never approaching me, until now, that is.

            “You should not be back here, sir,” I say, panic evident in my tone as I step out from under his grip.

            He throws his hands up between us, palms out to me in a show of innocence. “I apologize, Miss. I simply wished to speak with you.”

            My hands tangle themselves nervously in the folds of my dress as I sidestep this mystery man. His lips curl into a hungry smile, sending a shiver straight up my spine.

            “Anything you want to speak with me about can be said in the main room,” I explain coolly, wishing that Haymitch would amble drunkenly into the room. But with his snores still floating through the doorway from the other room, it seems to be wishful thinking.

            “Not this, Miss Katniss,” the stranger argues quietly, allowing me to take another step towards the door.

            I frown. “How do you know my name?”

            He chuckles as though the question is one he finds thoroughly amusing, but the laughter never reaches his eyes. “You will find that once Mr. Snow decides he wants something, he is quite good at doing the research to acquire it.”

            His words send my heart racing. The back door of the saloon opens behind me and I breathe a sigh of relief before I turn to see another man, one that is usually in the crowd with the stranger before me. He smiles wolfishly at me, but doesn’t speak. His giant frame does all the speaking for him. There is no way I could fight off either one of these men, let alone both of them.

            I take a deep breath, preparing to scream in hopes that someone would come running, but the smaller man waggles a finger between us. “Don’t go yelling now, Miss Katniss. We aren’t here to hurt you. All we want to do is talk.”

            There is nowhere for me to run. They have me backed into a corner, helpless. I stand silently, clenching my hands nervously at my sides.

            “We are here at the request of Mr. Snow. I am of the impression that you have already spoken to our boss, Mr. Crane?” the thinner man asks, arching a dark eyebrow.

            I nod slowly, my blood chilling in my veins.

            “Mr. Crane asked that we come here and delicately ask you to reconsider your decision not to work at The Arena,” the man adds.

            “I do not even know who you are,” I point out, trying to hide the nervous tremor in my hands.

            He places a hand to his chest. “I apologize, Miss Katniss, I am Marvel and this,” he motions to the large, blond man, “is Cato. We work to keep The Arena secure on show nights.” Cato flexes his muscles as though trying to prove his comrade’s point.

            I set my jaw stubbornly. “Well, as you are already aware, I have turned down Mr. Crane’s offer and I am not about to change my mind about this point.”

            “Stupid girl.” Cato hisses as he takes a threatening step towards me.

            Marvel puts a hand to the larger man’s shoulder. “Now, now, Cato. Let’s not be brash about this. She has every right to refuse our offer. But I feel it is my duty to inform you that this will not end here, Miss Katniss.”

            I scowl at the men. What could they possibly do to make me change my mind beside forcibly drag me to The Arena themselves?

            “Mr. Snow has his ways of persuading even the most obstinate of ladies,” Marvel smirks, placing a finger under my chin and lifting my gaze so I am forced to meet his. “This will not be the last we will see of one another, dear.”

            With that, Marvel straightens up and he signals for Cato to follow him. The two men slip out the back door without another word. It only takes a few moments for the tremors to take over my body, forcing me to sit down or face falling to the ground. Johanna had warned me that Mr. Crane would not be the end of this. As much as I want to believe there is nothing these men can do to me, I fear that my imagination isn’t capable of dreaming up the things that might happen if I continue to refuse them.

 

...

 

_Peeta_

 

            “Come on, Peet!” Axel calls far too loudly across the Chicago Club, the most elite gentlemen’s club on this side of the city. The middle Mellark son waves wildly for Peeta to join him.

            “You should lay off the tonic, Axel,” Peeta mumbles as he settles down next to his middle brother. Glenn is standing next to the fireplace talking with Mr. Field’s son who happens to be in the city on business.

            Peeta dislikes the stuffy club but his mother had insisted all her sons join as soon as they were of age, which for Peeta was several months ago. He had managed to avoid the place completely up until now. Axel had suggested the three boys celebrate Glenn’s engagement with a night on the town.

            Peeta had agreed originally, that is, until Axel started fantasizing about all the places they might go tonight. This is the first stop, a social hour of sorts. Peeta can only imagine where they will be going next.

            “Maybe _you_ should drink up, little brother,” Axel suggests with a sloppy smile. He’s been drinking scotch from the moment they walked through the door and Peeta can tell his older brother is enjoying himself immensely.

            “Here.” Axel pushes a fresh drink into Peeta’s hand. “You need it more than I do.”

            “I’m fine without it, Axe,” Peeta says, trying to shove the glass back into his brother’s hand.

            Axel grins wickedly. “You will need it for where we’re going next. Trust me. You will want to be relaxed and not at all your prim and proper self, Peeta.”

            He shoots the man across from him a suspicious look but drinks the liquid in the glass anyway. Maybe it could improve his mood; it certainly wouldn’t be difficult to do so. He hasn’t taken kindly to leaving the house for months now- not since the letter.

            Glenn, of course, already knows why, after finding Peeta in a drunken stupor that first night. But even Axel has started questioning his sudden change in demeanor.

            Axel spends the next hour forcing drinks into Peeta’s hands and smoking the finest cigars the club has to offer. By the time Peeta is gathered up from the bar, he’s more than a little tipsy and his head seems to be floating somewhere else rather than connected to his body. It’s nice though, he decides, even that small separation seems to help him forget and relax.

            Glenn claps him on the shoulder with a broad laugh when he nearly trips down the last three stairs of the club.

            “Enjoying yourself, Peeta?” he questions to which Peeta can only respond with a shrug. He wants to pretend that he doesn’t really remember what it feels like to enjoy himself. But that is a lie. He remembers the feeling all too well and it always involved a certain dark haired girl wrapped up in his arms. However he would rather forget about that sort of enjoyment since it looks as though he’ll never have it again.

            “You will be floating on cloud nine soon enough, Peet,” Axel assures him as he hails a hansom. “This next place will be just the thing.”

            “Where are we going?” Peeta questions slowly, his tongue unusually thick, heavy with the lingering aftertaste of liquor.

            “Somewhere you can never talk about after tonight, Peeta,” Glenn says seriously. “If mother ever finds out we were here, she’d skin all of our hides, married or not.”

            Peeta frowns. “Then why are we going?”

            It doesn’t quite make sense to him that they should risk punishment for a night of debauchery. He’s had enough of his mother’s beatings to last him a lifetime. Peeta would be quite content staying at the gentleman’s club on Michigan Avenue and drinking for the rest of the night.

            “Because, Peet,” Axel says with an excited laugh, “tonight we indulge a bit. Maxwell went here when his brother was getting married. He said the girls are nice- clean, which is important- but also there’s a girl there that everyone is raving about. Don’t ask me how she ended up in the Seam if she’s so good-“

            “We’re going to the Seam?” Peeta asks incredulously, already halfway out of the carriage.

            “Are you mad, Peeta? Sit down!” Glenn grabs his youngest brother by the arm and firmly sits him back in his seat, fixing him with a quizzical glare. Peeta might have grown a second head judging by the way Axel stares at him.

            “Yes, we’re going to the Seam,” Axel confirms. “There is a saloon there, The Hob. It has a show every night and we are going to watch it.”

            Peeta doesn’t like the idea of traveling through the Seam. He’s afraid he might somehow, against all odds, run into Katniss. Maybe she’ll even be with her new husband. Carl hasn’t been able to find her in all the time that he has been searching, but Peeta thinks there would be a certain cruel irony if he passed her on the way to some bawdy house. He doesn’t think he could stand it. It appears he has no choice in the matter, however, as Glenn still has a firm grip on his arm to keep him from jumping ship.

            “This girl that Maxwell told you about, what made her so special?” Glenn questions distractedly as the carriage travels deeper into the impoverished section of the city.

            Peeta is surprised when he remembers that this is the same brother who will be married in a week. Why would he ever agree to go to a place like this?

            “They call her the girl on fire,” Axel explains. “Maxwell said she is easy to look at, quite exotic, but that it’s her voice that everyone is falling over. He said he has never heard a saloon get so quiet when one of the girls sings, and he should know with the amount of time he spends gambling in them while his sweet old mother’s asleep in bed.”

            Peeta couldn’t care less about this girl with a golden voice. He is certain it’s nowhere near as sweet to hear as Katniss when she sings. Really, he doesn’t think any girl could ever measure up to Katniss. And he lost her. His heart sinks as the thought returns to his mind. Anytime he nearly forgets that he’s alone, his mind plays the cruel trick of reminding him.

            He lets out a heavy sigh, leaning back against the carriage seat, resigned to the fact that he will be forced to sit through this bawdy house show. Hopefully it will end quickly so he can return home to the dark comfort of his bed. It’s the only place he doesn’t mind being anymore.

 

…

 

_Katniss_

 

 

            “It’s busy out there tonight,” Johanna states as she enters the back room after her act, wrenching her skirts up and tugging at the garter belts on her left thigh. Months ago this would have caused me much embarrassment but now it has become just another daily event when spending time around Johanna.

        “Couple of good looking ones toward the center. Looks like they could be industry boys.” She smirks and I roll my eyes. “What? You’re eighteen, Katniss. Haymitch can pretend he’s in charge, but he can’t tell you what to do if you want to take some handsome man upstairs with you. He knows you’re worth too much money and business to kick you to the curb.”

            “Haymitch isn’t keeping me from doing anything I want to do, Johanna. You know that,” I tell her for what must be the hundredth time.

            “Suit yourself. I’ll keep all the fun ones for myself,” she shrugs.

            “Be my guest,” I retort, lining my eyes with charcoal. Though I know it makes me look less ladylike, I admit it makes the grey of my eyes seem livelier.

            “You’re on Katniss,” Mr. Flickerman shouts from the doorway to the back room. I stand and straighten the flowing silk of the new dress Cinna made for me. He wanted to keep with his theme of “the girl on fire” and so he made this dress to look like candlelight. Once again he has done a superb job. When I move, the fabric shimmers, glowing as though it gives off a light of its own.

            The crowd lulls into silence as I step outside. The light focused on the stage is bright and it makes it difficult to see faces in the room but I can tell that Johanna was correct- every seat is filled and men stand along the back wall. I search the dim faces for Marvel or Cato, perhaps even Mr. Crane, but I do not find them. I relax slightly. I have searched for them during every show since that night a week ago. They haven’t returned yet and I pray that perhaps that was the end of it after all. Of course, deep down, I know better than to even hope for such a thing. I know I am just biding my time.

            The piano starts up softly, bringing my attention back to the task at hand, and I sing for what feels like the thousandth time since I started working for Haymitch. The words float through the silent room as they leave my lips. The men in the front rows watch me with rapt attention, eyes wide as though they have spotted some exotic treasure. It is a look I have come to know well in the months I have worked at The Hob. Men are always fascinated by what is different and that which they cannot have.

            When I finish, there is a moment of absolute silence before the whistling and catcalling starts up. During that moment, one tiny point in time, I imagine I’m alone in a forest, singing for no one but the birds in the trees. It is a moment of pure bliss. The calls and professions of love bring me back to the dingy, crowded interior of The Hob though.

            I curtsey and hurry off stage to make room for the next girl. Johanna hands me a gin and tonic with a nod of approval.

            “Standing ovation as usual. You know I should-“

            “Katniss?”

            The voice stops my breath and sends my heart thundering against my chest before my mind even has the chance to register the familiarity of it. The word is confused and choked with emotion, but I would still recognize his voice anywhere, which is why I don’t turn around and acknowledge him. Instead I take off through the back door, running into the night, hoping that he won’t run after me; that he won’t find me. Because, if there is one thing I know for sure, it is that I can’t look Peeta Mellark in the eye ever again. To do so would almost certainly be the end of me.

            Fear heightens my senses as I run but I don’t make it far before I can’t catch my breath. Damn these corsets. Madame Trinket insists on tight lacing them so I can barely breathe. She says that it is the fashion, that it makes a lady look beautiful, but I tend to think there is more beauty to be found in one’s ability to breathe.

            I listen sharply for his heavy footsteps while I walk as quickly as I can down the road, looking for somewhere I might be able to hide. I pass a tiny alley and duck into its shadows, trying to steady my breathing. The road is mostly empty save for a few drunken men stumbling their way home to waiting wives who will surely give them an earful for spending hard earned and much needed money on liquor and women.

            As I slowly regain my composure, I begin to relax, thinking perhaps Peeta didn’t run after me after all or perhaps I managed to give him the slip. I lean against the wall of the alley for a moment and close my eyes against the bright orange moon rising in the east. I assume I am alone and no one has noticed me, so when a hand wraps around my arm, I screech like a banshee straight out of Hell.

            “Katniss.” His voice is pleading and painful to listen to. I wish I could rip my ears off so I never have to hear my name on his lips again. “What are you doing here?”

            I don’t open my eyes. I simply can’t, though my mind burns with the memory of his piercing gaze. He smells of cigar smoke and liquor but underneath that is the earthy smell of rosemary. I expect he probably baked with it sometime during the day. The smell of him twists my stomach into knots and I have to open my eyes because, without sight, the smell is just too overwhelming.

            Opening my eyes does relieve the knots for a moment until I mistakenly let them travel up his body to meet his gaze. It knocks the air right out of my lungs. He looks so changed for such a short amount of time. Something in his gaze is harder, more bitter, than the Peeta I knew. There’s a pain there that I recognize all too well. I’ve hurt him so much by my actions. I wish there could have been another way.

            “Katniss.”

            Damn him. Why does he insist on using my name? I blink and open my mouth but nothing comes out. There’s no breath left in me for words.

            “What are you doing here?” He asks again, more softly this time, his voice almost tender before he continues, “Did he abandon you?”

            His words are like knives driven straight into my heart. He still thinks I left him to marry another man. I can tell by the desperation in his gaze that he thinks something went terribly wrong.

            “No.” The word comes out softer than a sigh, but in the quiet of the night, Peeta hears.

            “How are you here then, Katniss? I don’t understand,” his words crack unsteadily. “Is he forcing you to work at The Hob?”

            “No.” My voice wavers uncertainly and I hate myself for it. I want to sound strong, aloof, as though his worry doesn’t cause me immeasurable pain.

            I clear my throat and take a deep breath, gathering whatever courage I can so that I might make it through this confession.

            “I never married a man named David Whitman. That was a lie so that you would leave me alone- so you would forget about me. I have been working for Haymitch as one of his girls since I wrote you that letter.”

            My words hang dead and heavy in the air. Emotions flicker rapidly across Peeta’s face and I silently name them one by one. Anger. Confusion. Betrayal. Hurt. Sadness. And, though I don’t want to admit it, disgust.

            “I am sorry, Peeta,” I say softly, the words doing no justice to how much I regret doing this to him.

            “Why?” he demands coolly, stepping back from me, the moonlight casting a strange glow on his skin that makes him look otherworldly. “Why would you do this?”

            I swallow the bile rising in my throat when I hear how repulsed he is by this. This reaction is what I most feared; that he would find me abominable now that I’ve worked as a showgirl in a saloon. I’ve imagined the scenario before but I couldn’t have prepared myself for the way my chest tightens and I struggle to breathe.

            “It pays well,” I reason, but I know right away that’s not enough- not for a man who is so talented with words.

            “Your reputation is ruined!” He shouts, seething as a hand pulls roughly through his hair, leaving his curls a mess.

            “My reputation has never mattered to me-“

            “Katniss-“

            “Stop saying my name like that! It doesn’t matter! I am never going to marry anyway, especially not now! It’s too late for me!” I shout, my hands shaking nearly as much as my words as I try to contain the tears that are threatening to overflow from my eyes.

            Peeta scowls at me, a look I am entirely unprepared for. He never looked at me with anything other than adoration and tenderness before tonight.

            “You don’t know that you wouldn’t want to marry someday. It is foolish that you have done this.”

            “Don’t play games as though you can read my mind, Mr. Mellark,” I spit, emphasizing his formal name. I don’t miss the flinch as he hears it; a blatant reminder of how much has changed between us.

            “What have you done, Katniss?” he whispers, reaching to brush a hand over my cheek, smudging his thumb over the line of charcoal that surrounds my eye. I step sharply away from his touch. It’s too much. His touch still kindles a languid heat beneath my skin.

            “Please don’t use my name,” I murmur, looking away from those blue eyes that are trying to melt my resolve. “I need to return. I am expected to socialize before the saloon closes and I still have a closing number.”

            “Don’t.” Peeta pleads, grabbing my wrist as I walk by him. “Katniss, don’t go lie with a strange man. Whatever is going on- whatever reason you have for doing this, I can help you. I can’t let you do this anymore.“

            His words cause my heart to throb painfully. He thinks I work as a prostitute as well. And why wouldn’t he? Most of Haymitch’s girls do. I don’t correct him, knowing full well that it will help me succeed in turning him away if he thinks I’m a common whore.

            “You are not letting me do anything, Mr. Mellark,” I say firmly, wrenching my wrist from his grasp. Immediately, I miss the warmth of his hand there. “You have no authority over me or my life. You would do well to forget about me. I’m not leaving my work.”

            I have walked several yards from the alley before Peeta calls after me again. His voice echoing between the tall buildings that line the street, like there are a hundred Peeta’s telling me the same thing.

            “You really must be clueless about the effect you have on people,” he scoffs, but I don’t miss the grief lacing his tone. “I can’t simply forget you, Katniss Everdeen.”

            I don’t trust myself to respond so I speed up in my walking, ducking my head each time I pass someone on the street. Holding back my tears is now a hopeless feat so I let them slide down my cheeks freely, surely leaving black stains of charcoal down my face but I am too raw to care.

            Johanna scowls when I walk through the door. “You still have the closing number and you are a mess.”

            “I’ll be fine,” I say, hiccupping as I brush the tearstains from my cheeks.

            She shakes her head, grumbling to herself as she guides me by the shoulders to sit while she fixes the charcoal and rouge that I have damaged. She doesn’t ask who Peeta was or what transpired once I ran from the back room of The Hob.

            There are many things I dislike about Johanna. She’s sharp and bitter and can be callous at times. She pokes fun at anyone she can whether it’s unkind or not. But at that moment, when she practices a rare bit of kindness by not prodding me for explanations, I love everything that Johanna Mason is.

            I’m not sure how I make it through the last number but somehow I do to heavy applause. I don’t see Peeta in the audience and I wonder if he went directly home after our confrontation. I wonder why on earth he was here in the first place but immediately banish the question. It doesn’t matter why he was here because my life and Peeta’s are no longer intertwined. My admissions and behavior tonight sealed that fate.

            I make my way offstage and immediately make for the staircase that leads to my bedroom. Let Haymitch punish me tomorrow for not returning to socialize after the closing number. I can’t handle any more talking for the night. All I want is to bury my face against my pillow and never wake up.

            Once I am shut away behind my bedroom door, I realize that I have no way of undoing the long row of buttons down the back of my dress. I have just resigned myself to going back downstairs when Johanna enters without knocking and silently steps up behind me. A moment later, her hands are deftly undoing the buttons. I let the silk slide off of me onto the floor along with my petticoat once the hooks are undone. Johanna makes quick work of unlacing my corset and I gulp the cool, fresh air once my ribcage can properly expand again.

            She doesn’t utter a word before she leaves the room just as silently as she came, the door clicking softly behind her. I climb under the blankets, still dressed in my chemise with makeup covering my face and my hair pinned up. I can’t be bothered to do anything more for myself tonight.

            The sobs start suddenly but have no intention of stopping anytime soon once they do. I curl up as small as I can possibly manage, hoping that this might hold me together when I feel sure that I’m falling apart.

            It is not just Peeta I cry for tonight; that would oversimplify everything that has happened in these last months. I cry for Peeta, certainly, but I also cry for Prim, my baby sister who will grow up without me. I cry for the life I might have lived if I had just held my tongue and accepted Gale’s love. I cry for whatever marriage might have been if I hadn’t chosen to work for Haymitch to provide a better life for my family. And I cry for me- for the childhood and innocence I lost when my father died. I was forced to grow up too soon.

            If he could have just been here, I would never have stepped near The Hob. I would have stayed in school. Everything has changed so much. I miss him desperately and tonight I call for him like a child between my sobs even though I know he can never come to comfort me.

            I cry until I’m exhausted and then I stare at the wall until my eyes can’t stay open any longer. My dreams are restless, filled with running and lies and disgust.

 

…

 

 

            “G’night, Katniss,” Johanna laughs as she drags a man up the stairs behind her. His hands wander over her body in ways that even Peeta was never bold enough to do with me. His eyes are glazed over though and I doubt that he’ll even recall tonight clearly when he wakes up.

            “Good night,” I reply, my breath catching awkwardly in my throat as I watch her pull him up to her lips.

            I’m still not sure how Johanna does it. I know she must enjoy herself. She has already told me she doesn’t do it for the money after all, so why else would she? But she doesn’t look the way I always felt with Peeta, the only man I ever dreamt I might one day go to bed with. Her eyes don’t light up. Her cheeks don’t flush. And none of the men ever look at her the way Peeta looked at me.

            I tug the small pearl hairpins from my dark curls where Madame Trinket fixed them earlier this evening. As I release each one, my scalp begins to relax along with the rest of my body. Once all the locks are free, I move to hang up the dress that Cinna put me in for tonight’s show- a pretty gold colored thing with a simple swooping neckline and pretty lace along the hems. It seems surreal that an hour ago I was wearing such a lovely dress when I’m dressed in simple underclothes now.

            “Miss Katniss, it’s so wonderful to see you again.”

            The voice chills me to the bone instantly and I screw my eyes shut, pretending that perhaps it’s a figment of my imagination. It isn’t though. I knew this was coming; I just hoped it wasn’t.

            “You seem tense, darling,” his voice whispers from just behind me. “Perhaps this might calm you.”

            I open my eyes to a length of pink satin ribbon being held in front of me. It could be a ribbon from any girl’s trinket box, save for the fraying ends and the small stain at the tip. It’s a coffee stain, one that has been there for years, since before Papa died. There’s no mistaking that this ribbon belongs to Prim.

            My breath catches as I reach for the soft, pretty thing. Marvel releases it easily. He has no attachment to the object. His hot breath presses against my skin as he releases a sinister chuckle.

            “How,” my bottom lip trembles traitorously as I speak, “did you happen upon this?”

            “I didn’t happen upon it, sweetheart,” Marvel hisses against my ear. “It was entirely intentional.”

            I swallow thickly at the lump growing in my throat as I weave the satin between my fingers. His thumbs find my shoulders, pressing firm circles against the taut muscles there.

            “Relax, Katniss. There’s no need to get so worked up.”

            “What do you want, Marvel?” I demand, my fingers twitching restlessly towards the dagger resting against my leg. I have worn it every day since Johanna gave it to me, especially after Marvel first visited. I am hyperaware of its presence now though as the metal burns against my skin. If I could reach for it without him noticing.

            “I think you already know the answer to that question,” he croons softly, his breath causing wisps of hair to tickle my neck. I think I’m going to be sick.

            “Is Prim alright?”

            “But of course, Miss Katniss,” he assures me patronizingly. “I am certainly not in the business of stealing children from their beds. Of course, there’s no telling what lengths Mr. Snow might go to in order to get what he wants.”

            My nostrils flare as I turn to face this man, this horrible human being who threatens my family, who tries to blackmail me into submission.

            “And the hair ribbon is to prove you know where to find her,” I state flatly, his purpose utterly clear. It’s impossible not to see through his façade.

            “I thought you might enjoy a trinket from your old life,” he shrugs noncommittally.

            “How very kind of you,” I mutter bitterly, glaring at him as I drop the ribbon to the table beside us.

            “It was a little enough kindness, my darling,” he says with a wolfish grin. “Your mother is a kind old woman. Very accommodating.”

            Fear twists my stomach with a sharp icy grip. “Leave them alone,” I order.

            Marvel laughs, boldly reaching a hand up to finger one of the dark, silky ringlets of my hair which cascades over my shoulders.

            “Your wish is my command, Katniss, but not for free.”

            Panic. That’s all I feel as he leans over me, his rank breath pouring over my face as his free hand slides around my waist. I try not to allow the disgust to flood my face. My mind spins with the desperate need to escape this, but there is no escape. Not really. He’ll just keep coming after me until I give in. He will touch me this time. If I don’t agree to work at The Arena afterwards, he will go after my family. He might hurt Prim.

            The knife. It is the only solution. It has to be the knife. It can end all of this. His hands roam my body grazing the soft curve of my bosom, grasping at my hips, tangling in my hair. His lips slip over mine as he pulls me closer to him, pressing my body to his. I squirm against him, his hot tongue probing unpleasantly against mine. He presses his waist against mine, leaving my mind spinning with confusion. I don’t understand what I feel, the bulge that he continues to grind against me.

            I lift my foot, subtly leaning away as I reach my hand towards the dagger. Just another inch and I can reach under my chemise for the weapon hidden below. Marvel seems to take my lack of fighting as permission to continue as his tongue plunges into my mouth, dominating me as I try not to gag. My mind is frantic as I stretch my fingers just a little farther. This doesn’t feel like it did with Peeta. This is awful.

            And finally it’s there. The tips of my fingers brush the hilt of the dagger, deftly yanking it from it’s home. I don’t think as I reach forward and plunge the thing with all my strength into Marvel’s chest. He shouts out at the same moment I do, my hand throbbing as every nerve in my arm sears with pain. He wears a shocked face as he stumbles back from me. The door behind me bursts open as heavy, hurried steps come from the front of the saloon.

            “MARVEL!” Massive, furious Cato rushes through the door just in time to watch Marvel fall to the ground, the hilt of my dagger sticking gruesomely out of his chest. Marvel tries to speak, his words stilted as he pants, clearly in pain from the wound I have inflicted.

            Cato turns on me when I make a horrified squeak. His eyes are blazing with a fury I could never have imagined. Dear lord, what have I done? My body shakes as I raise a hand to my mouth, my stomach rolling at the sight of Marvel’s blood as it blooms across his shirt.

            “Katniss!” Finnick shouts as he walks in from the front of the saloon, a horrified look washing over him as he takes in the scene.

            “You bitch!” Cato screams as he lunges for me, large hands outstretched as he reaches for my neck. He will make quick work of my death at least; hands that big could snap my neck in a second.

            What I don’t count on is Finnick running across the room and jumping in front of me. He throws a mean punch into the other man’s jaw, leaving him spitting blood.

            “Leave.” Finnick orders, his voice more deadly than I have ever heard him before. “Your friend is dead. Get out while you can.”

            The burly man looks up, rage evident in his gaze as it meets mine. He must see that this fight will be messier than he’d like, because he straightens up and begins walking backwards toward door.

            “You watch your back, Katniss. We will meet again. And next time you won’t get off this easy.”

            He spits blood at me, flecks of wetness hitting my cheek, before he gives one last glance at his companion and leaves out the back door. Finnick turns to face me the instant the door shuts behind the hulking brute, taking my hands in his own.

            “Katniss, did he harm you?” he questions gently, his thumbs running gently over my knuckles as he leans over so his green eyes meet with mine.

            I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out, so I settle with a shake of my head instead. I cradle my right hand against my chest as it continues to throb, biting my cheek to keep from screaming as the realization of what I have just done truly hits me. My eyes dart to the gasping figure on the floor. Finnick frowns when he notices.

            Finnick nods once he’s looked me over for himself and sees there isn’t any permanent damage done.

            “You hit the bone when you stabbed him,” he nods at the fist still clutched to my chest. “The throbbing will stop after a while.”

            I stare blankly at the man before me, wondering how on earth he would know such a thing. He glances at Marvel and takes a step towards his body, but then thinks better of it and turns his gaze back to me.

            “Close your eyes, sweetheart.” Finnick mumbles, his eyes pleading with me to comply. My bottom lip tremors, but I do as he says, shaking uncontrollably as I do.

            His steady tread is the only sound in the room save for Marvels gasping. “Sing something pretty for me, Katniss,” Finnick orders softly and suddenly I realize what he’s going to do.

            I shake my head, screwing my eyes shut more tightly. “I can’t.”

            “Sure you can,” he assures me, his voice strangely calm and steady considering what he’s about to do. “Do you know The Parting Glass? That is one my mother always sang to me when I was a boy.”

            I do know it. Papa used to sing it sometimes with his gentlemen friends back in the days when we would still have company to the apartment. The words fill my mind and somehow the notes start to flow from my lips. It’s as though my body knows what is about to come and it is trying to save me from it.

            The first choking noises leave my voice quivering. Boots kick against the wooden floors. Lips sputter as they try to speak, beg for mercy, but there is no mercy to be had in this room tonight. I falter on the second verse at the gagging, desperate noises coming from across the room. The room falls silent shortly after, but Finnick doesn’t ask me to stop singing.

            “That was very lovely, Katniss,” he murmurs softly once I finish. “You can open your eyes. It’s over now.”

            He has covered Marvel’s body with cloth from Cinna’s collection, but it doesn’t do much to hide exactly what the situation is. I release a shuddering breath. It’s over. But what do I do now? I certainly can’t run to the police. Dead bodies in saloons don’t bode well, especially if the girl reporting it is one of the showgirls.

            “We-“ Finnick clears his throat, reaching an unsteady hand out to pat my shoulder softly. “We need to get rid of the body.”

            “How?” the question leaves my lips without a moment’s hesitation. I do not want to give him a chance to leave me alone in this. I need an ally, even if it is in the unlikely form of Captain Finnick Odair.

            He runs a hand roughly through his hair, the cogs of his mind churning furiously as he tries to think of a solution. I do not know why he has decided to help me besides the fact that Finnick Odair is a truly good man, a real gentleman.

            “We need a cart. Something to carry the body,” he explains flatly, his eyes unfocused as he imagines the plan on an invisible screen before him.

            I frown. “What will we do with it, though?”

            He turns to face me, his eyes coming back into focus as he gives me a grim smile. “You will find that the Great Lake Michigan can be your best friend if you know the currents, Katniss.”

            A chilling thought. The currents are known for pulling unwary swimmers out to their deaths. If there is anyone I trust to know the waters, it would be Mr. Odair. And it isn’t as though I have any better plan than the one he has presented.

            I nod, a sudden surge of bravery flooding me as I stare up into the sea-green eyes before me. I trust him. He will see us both through this. I quickly reach for my simple, worn dress – one of the two I brought from home when I first came to The Hob.

            “Give me time,” I state assuredly as I slip into the scratchy, dingy fabric. “I know someone who will be able to help us, but he is across the city.”

            “As long as it is handled before dawn, we should be okay,” Finnick says, wordlessly reaching to button me into my dress.

            I reach for a shawl hanging near the door. It belongs to Clove I think, but she will not miss it before the morning. The night is cool, the wind crisp, but I make my way quickly out of the back room of the saloon, leaving Finnick with no company besides the dead body of an enemy.

            It is a long walk, but I make quick work of it. There is only one person I know in this world with a cart. I can only hope he will be willing to help me.

           

…

 

            I knock softly at the servants’ door. I pull my shawl more tightly around my body as a sharp wind whips around the building. A tall butler answers the door wearing a night coat looking more than displeased by my presence on his doorstep.

            “We do not take in strays,” he informs me coolly, eyeing me skeptically from down the length of his nose.

            I realize what I must look like. I did not take the time to wash away the night’s makeup. My hair is loose and certainly messed from Marvel twining his fingers through it earlier. My dress, although more modest than anything I would wear on stage, is ragged and worn down to its final threads. I do not look like a girl one would want on their doorstep, to be certain.

            “I need to speak to Mr. Peeta Mellark,” I state as steadily as my trembling body allows. “Please. He will know me. Katniss.”

            The man looks unsure, almost disgusted as his eyes wander over my form one last time. He sighs heavily before stepping back from the door. I am about to step inside when he slides the door shut further.

            “I will fetch him if you remain here, Miss,” the butler warns coolly.

            He doesn’t wait for me to answer, shutting the door quietly in my face before retreating to find the youngest master of the house. It doesn’t escape me how incredibly rude this man has been by shutting me out, but then, it’s not every day he has a girl who looks remarkably like a lady of the night on his stoop.

            I pace frantically in front of the door, loosing hope with each passing minute that the door doesn’t open. Perhaps the man lied and he isn’t getting Peeta at all. Perhaps it would be best if I left. I am wasting precious time standing here. If Cato tips off the police, they could be at The Hob any minute.

            Finally the door swings open, revealing that face I know so well though it looks distraught as his eyes find me now. My heart skitters against my chest as I come to terms with what I must tell him. He already hates me for what I have done to him though. What more can this confession do?

            He looks as though he dressed in a hurry and I realize he was probably already retired for the night, perhaps even asleep. His slacks are wrinkled, suspenders hanging loose against his thighs. The white linen shirt he wears is slightly less wrinkled but the tail is hanging out where he missed tucking it in.

            He steps outside, the thin fabric of his shirt doing little to protect him from the biting wind. He doesn’t speak, and for a moment, I’m transfixed by the way the wind tousles his curls, wishing that I might be able to run my hands through them once again.

            “I need your help, Peeta,” I say timidly, just loud enough to be heard over the wind. “I know I haven’t any right to ask-“

            “You’re right. You don’t,” he barks, a deep frown creasing his brow as he steps closer to me. Too close and yet not close enough. I catch his scent on the breeze and all I wish to do is throw my arms around his neck and bury my face against his chest.

            His clenched jaw relaxes some as he reaches a hand up to cup my cheek. “What has happened, Katniss? It’s something terrible, I can tell from your face.”

            I thought I was doing a good job of hiding everything. But I suppose I am whiter than any sheet at this point. Tears prickle at my eyes when I look up into his deep, blue ones. Even now I can see that he still cares.

            I shake my head, unable to put into words the horrors that have happened tonight. Peeta stares for a moment before taking another step closer.

            “If you won’t speak with me, then why did you bother coming here?” His words are harsher than those that usually fall from his lips. Before I hurt him, he was always so gentle, so patient and forgiving. But my Peeta seems to have vanished along with the girl I used to be. Now it appears we are simply two broken children.

            “I- I need a cart,” I stutter, “something to carry a- something for heavy cargo.”

            Peeta frowns, a deep, worried furrow creasing his pale brow as he stares at me. “What kind of cargo would you have, Katniss? Unless you’re in the business of trading black market goods, too.”

            “No,” I whisper, shaking my head and shutting my eyes against the distrusting look he levels at me. I cannot stand what he thinks of me now. “It is best you don’t know, Peeta. Please, just allow me to borrow a cart and I will return it before dawn.”

            “No,” Peeta refuses firmly, his jaw clenched with stubbornness that I thought only came naturally to myself.

            Something shatters inside of me, and I want to cry. I don’t know what to do. Peeta is the only person I know with access to the cart I need.

            I worry my bottom lip between my teeth for a moment before giving him a silent nod and turning to leave. Perhaps Finnick will have another idea. There are still several hours until dawn. I just need to come up with another plan.

            “I won’t let you take the cart alone,” he calls after my slowly retreating form. “I will drive it-“

            “Do you even know how to drive a cart?” I demand, my heart thudding with panic. Peeta can’t know why I need the cart. He would be so ashamed. I would not blame him if he reported us to the police. It would be the ultimate revenge against me after I hurt him so much.

            “I do,” he tells me firmly as he steps into the yard, walking towards me, a cocky smirk pulling at his lips. “I learned how when I was a boy when I would spend the summers helping my father out at the mills.”

            “Peeta, you can’t-“ my voice cracks and I am unable to finish the sentence. He stares at me in silence, waiting for me to finish the thought. I step back from him, unable to think clearly with him so near me again. I struggle to remember why it would be a terrible idea to tell Peeta what has happened. Surely he would believe me.

            “Let us not waste time, Katniss,” Peeta sighs heavily before he turns and begins walking towards the stable. “Come along. The cart is back this way.”

            He doesn’t look at me as we walk, though I find myself staring at his pale skin, which glows under the moonlight.

            “Where do we need to go?” he questions with a grunt once we are safely shut away in the stable as he works the harness onto a sleek grey steed. My eyes follow his nimble fingers as they work silver buckles with ease.

            “The Hob,” I reply softly.

            His cerulean eyes meet mine, a sadness in them that I don’t recall seeing there before. He nods wordlessly and offers a hand to help me into the cart. He settles beside me and we are so near one another that I can smell that familiar scent that I remember as strictly Peeta. What I wouldn’t give to lean against him, to bury my body against his and let his warmth seep into my bones. I am nearly certain that my body will be frozen forever. A murderer can’t have warm flesh and blood like any innocent human. There must be something that separates the two.

            The ride is silent save for the steady beat of the horse’s hooves on the ground and the creak of the cart. The wind grows sharper the closer we get to The Hob and the lake. I direct Peeta towards the alley that runs behind The Hob. It wouldn’t do for us to drag Marvel’s body out the front of the establishment. It is far less likely for anybody to observe our late night activities if we stay in back of the saloon.

            I slide from my seat quickly and head for the door. The rest of the building is dark save for the solitary window that looks in on the back room. I stop when I hear Peeta’s heavy tread crunching on the road behind me.

            Spinning on my heels to face him, a scowl forms of it’s own accord on my brow. “What are you doing?”

            He meets my gaze steadily, as though he expected this reaction. “You need a carriage for the cargo but you think you will be able to lift it on your own, Katniss?” he retorts mockingly, arching an eyebrow as he does.

            I glance away, unable to look into the eyes of this Peeta, one who makes fun of me, but not in the playful way he used to. I saw a piece this change that night when he first found me at The Hob. But it is still a difficult truth to accept. Peeta has been damaged by what I have put him through.

            “I have all the assistance I need, Peeta,” I whisper, wringing my hands nervously against one another. Tears that have nothing to do with the dead body inside burn my eyes. My heart is breaking all over again for the man I used to love.

            “Do not lie to me again, Katniss,” he argues tiredly, pushing past me and walking through the back door of The Hob before I can even reach for his arm to stop him.

            “Peeta, don’t!” I cry, but it is already far too late for that.

            The door swings on its hinges, revealing Finnick kneeling over Marvel’s pale form. I cringe when I notice his glassy eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Finnick’s head shoots up, hand still buried deep in the dead man’s pocket, a look of horror plastered across his face.

            Peeta’s eyes widen as he takes in the sight. It is the longest minute of my life as I wait for him to react, praying he won’t run for the police immediately.

            He does turn, but only to face me, fixing me with the full glare of his disgust, “What have you done, Katniss?”

            Something inside of me breaks with his question. I look to the floor, my hands trembling as I try to think of some way to explain what happened here tonight but the words fail me. Finnick stands slowly, several folded bills and papers clutched in his white-knuckled hands.

            “She did what she needed to,” Finnick answers simply, stepping up beside me as he glares back at Peeta.

            I still can’t meet his gaze, but I can see Peeta’s eyes shift between me and the bronze-haired man next to me. “Who is this?” he asks lowly, his voice nearly a growl.

            “Does it matter?” Finnick spits back before I even have a chance to think about replying. “She needs your help right now, sir; not your judgment.”

            “Do not tell me what Katniss needs,” Peeta retorts, his tone threatening as he takes a step towards Finnick. “Did you get her into this mess?”

            Finally I manage to look up at the two men just in time to catch Finnick’s sad gaze as he shakes his head. “No, I did not, but I am her friend and she needed my help.”

            Peeta snorts disgustedly. “Friend. This is the sort of company you keep now then, Katniss? How much does he pay you for your services?”

            My hand meets his face with a resounding crack. He closes his eyes briefly before raising a palm to his reddening cheek and glaring at me. I swallow against a thick lump growing in my throat and Finnick lets out a shaky breath, nearly a chuckle as though he can’t quiet believe what I’ve done.

            “Do not talk to me like that, Peeta Mellark,” I whisper hoarsely, blinking fiercely against the tears that begin to well up in my eyes. I do not wish to cry in front of these men. I do not want to seem weak, especially in front of Peeta. I don’t want him to see the power his words still have over me. But the events of the night are finally beginning to take their toll and I am exhausted.

            After the first fat, hot tear rolls town my cheek, I know it is no use. I rush quickly from the room, heading for the small broom closet off of the saloon and shutting the door tightly behind me before allowing myself to slide to the floor. Tears streak down my cheeks and I don’t bother swiping at them, letting the sobs shake my tired body as Peeta’s words echo in my mind, lashing against my heart every time they do.

            I ache. Every bit of me aches. I am simply so tired that I am not sure how I will manage to make it through this unending night.

 

…

 

_Peeta_

 

            The man glaring at Peeta is ridiculously good looking. A friend, he had called himself in relation to Katniss. Peeta’s blood boils just thinking about what this man might have done to her, or God-forbid, with her.

            “You have made a complete idiot of yourself, do you know that?” the man asks furiously, his cheeks flushing scarlet as he clenches his hands even more tightly around the dead man’s papers. “Katniss and I have never had that sort of relationship. We are simply friends, whatever you may think. You don’t even realize the damage your words have done. She is not like the other girls here. She is so much more than that.”

            It takes everything inside of Peeta not to snap at the man. He knows Katniss is more than an average whore. She is so much more. She is everything. He swallows the words though, finding them too painful to speak.

            “Are you going to tell me that you weren’t at all involved in this mess?” Peeta demands, swinging a hand towards the dead man several feet away.

            “Yes!” the bronze haired man shouts, his sea-green eyes blazing with anger. “I had nothing to do with that man’s death. He attacked Katniss tonight. From what I gather, he’s been threatening her for even longer. I do not know the exact details, but I know she was horrified. I know that she never intended to kill him but he left her little choice in the matter.”

            “Who are you then, if you are not her lover?” Peeta questions quietly, his chest tightening with this man’s every word. His Katniss, his poor Katniss has been living a nightmare he never knew about and he has just given her a verbal lashing without ever giving her a moment to tell her story.

            “Finnick Odair,” he says coolly, not bothering to offer his hand in greeting. “A friend,” he repeats for good measure, rubbing salt in Peeta’s already wounded ego.

            Peeta’s shoulders sag as he lets out a deep sigh, realizing the enormity his mistake. “Let me speak with her for a moment and then we will deal with this.”

            Finnick nods, holding up the papers in his hand. “I need to get rid of these anyway.”

            The floor creaks under Peeta’s heavy footsteps as he listens for any sound that might tell him where she went. The front room of the saloon is deserted, the only light coming from the threshold of the back room, but he hears a hushed sob to his left coming from behind a door.

            “Katniss,” Peeta murmurs through the wooden door. She doesn’t answer of course so he knocks softly.

            “Katniss, please open the door,” he tries the doorknob but meets resistance when he tries to open it.

            It’s a long, painful several minutes before the door swings open slowly. Katniss looks up hesitantly, her eyes puffy and red, cheeks splotchy from where she must have swiped angrily at her tears. Wet streaks still cover her face despite her best efforts to wipe them away.

            His heart shatters at the sight of her, at the sight of what his words have reduced her to. His strong, willful Katniss stands in front of him, a tremulous, tearful mess.

            He is still hurt by what she has done, but he can’t pretend he understands everything that happened anymore and he can’t deny her his comfort. Peeta opens his arms wide, waiting for her to step into his embrace. It only takes a moment for Katniss to collapse against him, her body shaking hysterically as she takes several deep breaths.

            “I am so sorry, Katniss,” Peeta murmurs once his arms are wrapped securely around her waist, his nose buried against her soft, dark locks.

            “He was going to hurt Prim,” her whispered words, muffled by his shirt, still manage to reach his ears. “Marvel had been in the apartment. He had her hair ribbon.”

            Peeta makes a soothing, hushing noise, one his father used when he would have nightmares as a little boy. Her trembling eases and she lifts her head from his chest so her silver eyes can peer up at him.

            “He touched me, Peeta,” she admits. His arms tighten around her waist instinctively, but she continues, oblivious to his concern. “It didn’t feel like- I did not like it. I did not want him to touch me, Peeta. I have never done that. I swear-“

            “Hush, sweetheart,” Peeta whispers brushing his hand gently against her back, screwing his eyes shut at the frantic worry in her tone. He did this to her. He gave her this need to prove herself to him, to try and convince him he was wrong.

            “You need to know.” She reaches up, laying a palm gently against his cheek, right where she hit him less than fifteen minutes ago. “I never let another man lay a hand on me until tonight.”

            Peeta gazes at the beautiful girl in his arms, guilt washing over him as she timidly watches him, waiting for his reaction when his opinion really shouldn’t matter at all. After what he said to her, she has every right to hate him.

            “Katniss…” he’s at a loss for words, so instead he does the only thing that feels right. He leans forward, pressing his lips against hers.

            Her breath hitches in surprise, but, to his delight, she doesn’t pull away. Instead she curls her hands into fists against his shirt, moving her lips softly against his. The clearing of Finnick’s throat is what brings them back to reality. Katniss steps away, a pink tint flushing her cheeks as she does.

            “We should be moving,” Finnick points out. “There are only a few more hours before sunrise.”

            Katniss nods and darts into the back room again without so much as a word. Peeta follows, finding a thick canvas wrapped around the man- Marvel’s- body. Finnick motions him to one end of the roll.

            “We need to get him to the cart. After that, this should be simple enough,” he muses.

            Marvel was not a big man, though tall he was exceptionally thin. So lifting the dead weight of his body is much easier than any of the three would have imagined. It takes but a minute before Katniss is settled on the bench of the cart between Peeta and Finnick as they head toward the nearest pier on the lake.

            Peeta stops just before the end of the pier, jumping down quickly as he does. Finnick is just as fast, pulling several pails from the back of the cart.

            “I gathered these while Katniss was fetching you,” he explains while both men pull the body out of the back of the cart. “We need to stuff these in the canvas with the body otherwise he’ll just float along the surface.”

            Peeta follows Finnick’s lead and picks up a rock the size of his fist, stuffing it into the roll. Katniss joins them hesitantly, running shaky fingers over the rough surface of a rock before hurriedly pushing it beneath the coarse fabric.

            Katniss lets out a shuddering cry, withdrawing her hand and holding it against her chest with wide, horrified eyes.

            “What happened?” Finnick asks in a hushed tone as he continues stuffing the canvas as quickly as he can manage.

            Peeta understands right away though. The way she runs the opposite hands over her fingers. The way her cheeks have paled and her eyes have widened as she stares at the roll before them. She felt how cold Marvel’s body is already. It is a strange feeling to feel human flesh when it is no longer heated by blood and a pumping heart.

            “It will be okay, Katniss,” Peeta murmurs, reaching to brush a hand over hers. “It is nearly over.”

            Once the pails are empty, Peeta helps Finnick lift the body, grunting beneath the added weight of the rocks. The two men swing it cautiously into the water, causing a sickening splash as it hits the water. The trio observes silently as bubbles float up to the surface while the body descends into the murky depths of the lake.

            “Is that all?” Peeta asks once the surface of the water has gone smooth again.

            “It is all we can do,” Finnick replies. “We just need to hope the lake does its job and carries the body out with its current.”

            “Then let’s go home,” Katniss whispers, turning stiffly away from the dark water. Peeta wraps an arm around her and helps her back into the cart without another word. He drops Finnick and Katniss off at The Hob before heading towards Mellark Mansion again, exhaustion overtaking him all at once as the sky finally begins to lighten as dawn approaches.

 

…

 

_Katniss_

 

            I am unable to sleep. The nightmares weave themselves into my brain, their dark, spindly fingers tangling themselves deeply into my every thought. No matter how I twist and turn, it’s no use. Sleep refuses to claim me.

            A bird sings sweetly outside of my window though it’s still dark. It is a tragically beautiful song. Perhaps I am simply overtired, but it makes my heart throb desperately for something I cannot even name.

            “Katniss?” the familiar whisper follows a soft knock at my door.

            I sit up swiftly, tucking the edges of the ratty quilt around me as I throw my feet over the edge of the bed. My heart pounds loudly against my ears, fear flooding my veins. What if something has gone wrong? What if they have found the body?

            I swing the door open without ceremony, revealing Peeta, shirt mussed and dark circles settled under his eyes.

            “Katniss.”

            The word is but a whisper. I reach a hand out to him and tug him into the room before closing the door. My hands move to his face without hesitation, cupping his cheeks gently.

            “I am so sorry, Peeta,” I say. And I am.

            I should never have asked him to be part of this. He’s such a beautiful soul and I have already caused him so much damage. I fear I will be the ruin of Peeta Mellark. He is far too sweet to be involved in such dark deeds.

            He shakes his head sadly, leaning forward without any hesitation and taking my lips with his. A whimper rises from my chest as his mouth moves gently against mine, as though we never parted, as though I am not the reason he feels so broken right now. He moves away slightly, pressing his forehead to mine, blue eyes forlorn.

            “Stay with me.” I beg in spite of every fiber of my being telling me to let him go. I gently take one of his hands and guide him towards the tiny, old bed.

            I am sure it is nothing compared to his living quarters at the mansion and I know I am asking a lot of him. He doesn’t resist though, slipping beneath the covers with me. We settle silently into bed, chests pressed flush against one another, his arms wrapped protectively around me.

            “Always,” he murmurs as he buries his face against the crown of my head, breathing me in deeply. I wish I could stop this moment and keep him wrapped around me forever. Despite the events of the night, I have not felt this safe in months.

            “I need you. Please don’t ever run from me again, Katniss. I don’t think I could survive it.”

            I clutch desperately at his shirt, trying to pull him closer to me, trying to protect him from every horror I bring with me. The sun is beginning to rise outside and catches his golden hair like a flame. He is so beautiful. How I ever managed to turn away from him, I will never understand. I don’t think I could walk away from this man again if I tried.

            I rest my head against his chest and press a kiss right where his heart resides. I love him. A shiver runs through me at the thought, one I am unable to voice today. As terrifying as it might be, I love Peeta Mellark.

            The thought repeats itself over and over in an endless loop. After a while it becomes comforting more than disconcerting. It seems right. There is no one more worthy of love than my dear Peeta after all.

            I blink quickly when I wake, the bright afternoon light filtering into the room blinding me momentarily. I let out a heavy breath and his strong arms tighten around me slightly. A smile plays at my lips as I look up into those cerulean eyes that melt my heart instantly.

            “Run away with me.” He whispers softly, tucking a bit of hair behind my ear. “Come with me away from the city. I can keep you safe and I think you could be happy.”

            My brow creases as my brain, still foggy with sleep, attempts to catch up with his words. His gaze holds such joy, such hope, that I hate myself for what I say next.

            “I can’t.”

            His face falls instantly and he shifts away from me slightly. He tries to hide his hurt, but I know him too well to miss it.

            “Peeta,” I whisper, reaching to place a hand on each cheek, forcing him to look at me. “I cannot. Snow knows where my family is. You know who Coriolanus Snow is, don’t you?”

            He nods mutely, leaning into my touch in spite of himself.

            “That man from last night, he was one of Snow’s men. He had been to the apartment. They know where to find Prim,” I explain slowly, desperate for him to understand. “If I run, they could use Prim to get to me. They could hurt her, Peeta.”

            “We could all run-“

            I shake my head. “He has eyes everywhere, Peeta. And even if we took Prim, my mother would never agree to flee the city. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to her because of me. She is still my mother.”

            He is silent for a long while, a bitter sadness palpable in the room. I know he understands, though he hates it.

            “I have something for you,” he whispers once we are both roused from our silent musings. I look up curiously. He gave me safety and comfort on a night when I should have had none. What more could this man possibly give me?

            He leans away from me and immediately I miss the warmth of his body pressed against mine. It is selfish and I know it is not proper, but I don’t want to be apart from him ever again. I would sleep every night next to him if he would allow it. Something tells me that, despite everything I have put him through, he wouldn’t deny me the request.

            “What is it?” I question as he rustles a hand in his pocket beneath the blankets. My blood warms inexplicably as I watch his movements. My cheeks flush, warming the tips of my ears before he produces a small parcel wrapped in worn, black satin.

            “Open it,” he orders softly, a gentle smile tugging at his lips.

            I frown at the little bundle in my hand. “You have already done too much, Peeta. I can’t take your gifts.”

            A large, warm palm finds my cheek, raising my gaze to his. “It is not a gift. I am returning what was lost. Correcting an injustice, if you will.”

            He wears such a hopeful grin that I can’t help but smile. A gasp escapes my parted lips when I unfold the soft fabric. He found the hair comb. How he managed such a feat I don’t know, but here it is, resting in my hand, glinting in the soft, morning light as though it never left my possession. My eyes begin to water as he takes it from my hand and gently works it into my messy, tangled hair.

            “How did you ever find it?” I whisper the question; hesitant to say more or speak louder for fear that the tears will burst forth along with the words.

            He brushes stray hairs back from my face then leans forward and captures my lips with his. The kiss is tender, gentle, soft like the morning light. I shiver under his touch and move closer to him again. His fingers dig against my waist, kneading my skin as he pulls me tightly to him. The soft fabric of my nightdress does little more than cover my skin. His heat pours against me, the rougher linen of his shirt rasps against my breasts, causing my nipples to pebble against him. It is a sensation unlike anything I have ever felt before, but I never want it to end. I move against him, brushing my chest against his until he lets out a low growl and pulls me away.

            I gasp, my breath coming in short pants through parted, swollen lips. His eyes are dark when he looks down at me again. I wonder if I have perhaps done something wrong until he brushes a shaky hand over my hair and presses his lips against the dark, knotty locks.

            “I should go before I find myself unable to part from you,” he murmurs, his voice raspy and deeper than I am accustom to, but the sound of it makes a heat gather low in my belly.

            “Would it be such a bad thing if you could not leave?” I ask, wishing we could stay sealed away in this moment forever.

            I watch his pupils grow large, until only a thin ring of blue surrounds them, his fingers twitch at my waist, trailing upwards as he leans over me, laying me down against the mattress until his body is hovering over mine.

            “No,” he groans as he buries his face in the crook of my shoulder, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of my neck. “I would not mind it a bit.”

            His tongue presses against my skin, wet and hot, before he sucks gently, earning an involuntary gasp from me as my body arches against his. His hips press against mine as his hands trail over my belly exciting each nerve they pass. Everything is alive; it all feels too much. Even the air seems to set my skin on fire.

            A moan slips past my lips despite my best efforts to stay silent and his hips twitch against my thigh, or rather, not his hips but something else. A blush makes its way across my chest and to my cheeks before I even realize what I am embarrassed about.

            Once, when I was a little girl, they brought one of the factory workers to mother. She had stripped him down on the dining room table to get a better look at his wounds, which were mostly high up on his thighs. I realized that day, that boys were made differently than girls and right now that difference of Peeta’s is pressing against me in a way I didn’t realize it was capable of.

            Peeta’s eyes grow wide when he sees where my eyes are focused. Immediately he sits up in the bed and turns his back to me, taking deep breaths as he leans his elbows on his knees. I think I catch a flush of pink on his neck before he clears his throat.

            “I really should be going. I don’t want the other women to see me leave,” he scrubs a hand over his messy hair and I have the sudden urge to kneel behind him and run my fingers through the chaotic curls. I restrain myself however. He doesn’t seem to want to touch.

            “Are you afraid what they might say about you?” I joke playfully, imagining the shade of red he might turn if Johanna took a jab at him.

            “No.” He snorts softly before turning to look at me over his shoulder. “I don’t want them to say things about you.”

            I smile and move to sit beside him. “I would not mind it so much if they poked fun at us. I know what we are.”

            His gaze softens. “And what is that?”

            I bite my bottom lip, too shy to say the one thought that passed through my mind last night. I shake my head and he grins, leaning forward until his lips graze my ear.

            “Lovers,” he whispers quieter than a sigh.

            Heat rushes through my body, blood pounds through my ears, but he is right. We are lovers. Even if I cannot tell him I love him, we are romantically involved.

            I smile up at him and return the sweet kiss he places upon my lips before re-tucking his shirt and hooking his suspenders. There is something intimate about the motions with me resting in bed watching him. I can’t help but think I would like to wake up to the sight every morning.

            “When will I see you again?” he asks as he steps toward the door, the old wooden floors creaking beneath his feet.

            I shrug. “Whenever your schedule allows. You know where you can find me now.”

            The sadness in his smile is merely a reflection of what I feel myself. I hate that there is nowhere else for me to go. I hate that I was forced to kill a man last night in order to protect myself and my family. I hate the fact that I am still not safe. I know Cato will make good on his word and Snow isn’t likely to give up after the mysterious disappearance of one of his men.

            But for the Hell this life has become, I am so grateful for the man standing in my doorway now. The darkness has brought us back to one another. We are each other’s comfort against a horrid crime. He is my protection and I hope I might be his.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to let me know what you thought of the chapter. I adore hearing from you all!  
> As always, you can follow me on tumblr at therebelliondies.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so very much for your tireless patience. I know this chapter has taken a short eternity for me to write, but I really hope you find it's worth it. A special thanks to populardarling for her work in betaing this chapter.

_Katniss_

"Katniss?" The door slides open just a crack, and I spy Rue's familiar dark eyes peering at me through the opening. I smile, waving her in from my spot in front of the dingy mirror where I'm attempting to braid my hair back.

"Good morning, Rue," I greet once she stands beside me. "Did you need something?"

"There is a man downstairs," she says softly, her quiet voice cracking nervously as she plays with the folds of her skirt.

I frown and turn to face the younger woman, my heart beginning to thud nervously against my ribcage. Her anxiousness tells me that this isn't just any man. I cannot deny that I have been expecting this moment for a week now, but I am terrified that it has arrived all the same.

"It's Officer Thread," Rue explains after a moment that feels like a lifetime. "He wants all the ladies downstairs now for questioning about a disappearance."

I am not surprised by her words, but I still find myself struggling to catch my breath, to hide the fear that rushes through me at her words. Have they found the body, then? Do they know that Marvel was murdered? Do they know what happened that night?

A cold stone rolls in the pit of my stomach as I follow Rue downstairs where the rest of the girls are waiting, watching the Chief of Police curiously as he jots notes down on a small pad of paper.

He glances up when he hears my footfalls, grey eyes colder than the winter winds through the city. "Is this everyone, then?"

Haymitch gives a grunt of affirmation from his post in the corner. I am not sure that I have ever seen him look less pleased than he appears now, arms crossed over his chest while he glares at the man across the room. Haymitch doesn't take well to inconveniences, that much I have learned in my time here, and the presence of the Chief of Police in his establishment can definitely be considered an inconvenience.

"Good," Thread says coolly as he jots down a few more notes before looking up at his gathered audience again. "I assume you are all curious as to why I am here today. The disappearance of one Marvel Cooper was reported several days ago. There are several leads that have mentioned that someone at this quaint establishment might know something in regards to this event. As such, you will each be questioned individually either by myself or by Officer Darius Miller, who is here with me." The older man points to a familiar red-haired man standing just behind him.

I observe the two of them and quickly decide I would much rather be questioned by Darius. I remember his name from the night that Gale was beaten. If it hadn't been for him, Gale might never have made it home. His red hair gives him a boyish look even though I know he must be older if he is employed as an officer. He has a gentle, fair look about him and I suspect I would be able to keep my wits about me better if he were the one asking the questions rather than Thread.

They start at the front of the room, each man selecting a girl before heading to the front of the saloon. It seems like an eternity before Darius returns again, the girl with him wide-eyed but otherwise unharmed. The same is true when Thread returns several minutes later and the pattern continues until only Johanna and I remain to be questioned.

Unfortunately, Threads beady eyes land on me the moment he re-enters the room, pointing a finger at me and then the door, "You girl. You're next."

"Give that bastard hell," Johanna mutters as I walk by her, her eyes ablaze with an anger I can't comprehend. I can't think of a reason she has to hate the man, nor to be nervous about the questioning. I don't suppose she's committed any crimes recently. But, then, I suspect, she probably thinks the same thing about me.

"State your name, girl," Thread orders before I've even had a chance to settle myself into a chair. I glance up, blinking slowly as my mind races in fear.

"Katniss," I say softly, my voice sounding far more girlish than I remember it being. "Everdeen," I add when Officer Thread continues to stare at me, expecting more of an answer than I have given him.

"And what is your purpose here at The Hob?" He scribbles away, only sparing the occasional glance up at me.

"I- I sing," I stutter, my fingers wringing against one another in my lap.

This earns a much longer look from the man. "A bit young for that, aren't you, girl?"

An old stubbornness born from my father's blood rears up inside of me. I'm so tired. Tired of this life. Tired of people telling me what I'm too young to do. If I was really too young to sing in The Hob, perhaps society should have taken better care of my family, instead of grinding it into the dirt beneath our feet.

"I suppose even a child may sing, sir," I state somewhat spitefully.

Silence falls between us and he stares at me, as though attempting to peer deep into my very soul.

"Yes," he says slowly, scribbling another note. I don't know whether it's a good or bad thing that he has so much to write about me when I have said so little. "Where were you exactly one week ago tonight around one o'clock in the morning?"

A scowl makes its way to my face unbidden.

"I would have been here in the back room," I answer evenly despite my rapidly pounding heart. "The show would have been finished, and I would have been preparing to retire."

"And while you were – singing – did you ever notice this man in the audience?" Officer Thread holds out a fragile black and white portrait, smudged with dust but still very easily identified as a picture of Marvel.

I try my best to keep my face neutral even as a wave of disgust washes over me. I hand the picture back to him and press my hands over the small wrinkles in my skirt.

"I have never seen the man in my life," I murmur quietly, avoiding his gaze. Gale always told me I am a terrible liar. In this moment, I don't think I have Thread fooled either.

"Really?" His grey eyebrows rise on his forehead before he looks to his paper and writes again. He doesn't stop scribbling before he adds, "Several of your fellow workers already made statements that he had been in the crowd several nights, the last of which was a week ago exactly."

I shake my head adamantly, "I never saw him. Perhaps he was interested in a different type of girl. I would not have had reason to notice him if that were the case."

Thread nods, flips a page or two in his book and looks up at me with a wolfish smile. "Strange that Clove would report that she saw Marvel leaving the back room with his good friend Cato after speaking with you alone one night not that long ago."

"You would have to ask Clove more about that," I say, wincing at the little squeak in my voice. It seems like a dead giveaway. How could Clove have seen? Marvel always made it a point to approach me in private. A knot settles in the pit of my stomach as Thread makes a disapproving sound before jotting some more notes down.

"Miss Everdeen, the reason I am here today asking all of these questions is because Marvel was reported missing two days ago by his wife."

I suck in a breath. He had a wife? A family? What have I done?

"It took us until today to retrace his steps on the last day anyone seems to have seen him." Thread runs a stubby finger across a well-manicured mustache. "Coincidentally, Clove's statement places you as the last person Marvel was seen with before his mysterious disappearance."

"I don't know how to prove to you that I never spoke with the man," I reason, trying not to fidget under this stern man's gaze. My heart feels as though it's about to burst out of my chest and I can only hope that Officer Thread can't see it thudding away from where he's standing.

"Well, I can't prove anything at this point, Miss Everdeen, but you can rest assure that someone will be around to ask more questions soon enough." He flips his notebook closed. "I promise that this case won't remain unsolved for long. Not with two little ones at home waiting for answers about where their daddy is."

His words make me sick to my stomach. How could such an awful man have a family waiting at home for him? How could I have shattered another family in an attempt to protect what is left of my own?

Thread doesn't seem to notice my inner turmoil, or if he does, he doesn't mention it. Instead he lifts a hand, allowing me to lead the way to the back room where Haymitch is still waiting, looking as sour as ever about the police chief's presence.

His eyes meet mine when he hears us return to the room and he frowns when he notices the way my hands tremble before I have a chance to hide them in my skirts. I need to collect my nerves again before I break down and give everything away.

Haymitch crosses the room to stand before Thread. "Do you want your monthly payment now, or would you rather return at the scheduled time to pick it up?" he asks, his town low and threatening, as though he's had just about enough of the officer today.

Thread's response is muffled and I hear the door to The Hob slam not long after as I ascend the staircase that leads to my room. I guess his time here is finished for today. I wish that reassured me more than it does. I have a feeling I will be seeing him again all too soon.

…

_Peeta_

Peeta straightens bowtie with a tired sigh. He truly loathes these things-these social gatherings that his mother insists on throwing. Tonight it's a dinner for Mayor Undersee. The election is just around the corner, and tonight his mother feels the need to throw the Mellark name and money behind the man to prove once more that they are upstanding citizens.

"Peeta, darling, I was beginning to worry you'd lost your way," his mother greets sweetly when he passes through the doorway of the drawing room. It's her underhanded way of reminding him that he's late, shamefully so.

Peeta has long given up on caring about the rules and regulations of society, however. He'll never be good enough for his mother, anyway. Several searching sets of eyes find him where he stands now. Miss Madge Undersee is there, the subtle sadness still present beneath all the layers of lace and satin. Mr. and Mrs. Undersee sit beside her prim and proper, the very picture of a political family. A sharp-featured, middle-aged man is settled in the window seat, his sharp beady eyes fixed firmly on Peeta. A meek-looking woman sits next to him, her blonde hair thin and limp much like Peeta imagines her personality must be in order for her to be married to a man who looks like that.

There are others as well. The most surprising of which is Miss Glimmer Hamilton. Or perhaps it's not so surprising knowing that his mother was in charge of extending the invitations. She hasn't stopped going on about the single dance that Peeta shared with Miss Hamilton at the charity ball months ago.

Peeta nods politely at the guests, accepting a glass of brandy offered to him by the butler. Soft chatter resumes once the novelty of his presence wears off and Miss Glimmer is beside him almost instantly. Peeta had hoped that he would never have cause to speak with her again.

"Hello, Peeta," she greets with a sweet smile, one that she is so well-practiced in producing that Peeta almost believes it is natural. She glances around the room, noting that everyone is otherwise occupied before she settles a hand delicately on his forearm and gives it the slightest squeeze.

"Miss Glimmer," Peeta nods politely, taking her gloved hand and pressing a gentleman's kiss to it. "I am surprised to see you here. I thought you would be long gone from the city by now."

Peeta was under the impression that Glimmer Hamilton was set to join her aunt and cousins in Philadelphia once the summer season came to a close. He had overheard his mother chattering on about it at one of her morning teas.

A pleased smile graces her pretty lips, making Peeta queasy because she appears quite satisfied that he knew anything about her plans. She doesn't seem at all aware of the subtle disappointment lacing Peeta's tone nor the desperate way he searches about for one of his brothers-anyone really-that could divert his attentions from the woman beside him.

"I did have plans to spend the fall with my cousins at their estate in Philadelphia, but tragically one of their youngest fell ill with the smallpox." She gives him a rehearsed pout-one that conveys neither sincerity nor actual disappointment. In fact, she seems downright gleeful at the change in plans as she stands before him now.

"I am very sorry to hear that, Miss Glimmer." And truly he is. He hopes, for the child's sake, that the pox don't scar. It's a cruel world for children who appear to be anything other than normal. "I hope the child finds himself well again very soon."

"Oh, I expect he will," she waves a gloved hand lightly through the space between them. Peeta supposes she's had about enough talk of ugly diseases. "Might I expect to be seated next to you for dinner?"

The question fills Peeta with dread simply due to the way her face lights up at the mere mention. He's a polite man, however, and gives her a kind smile. "That would be a question better posed to my mother. She is, after all, more versed in the rules of dinner party seating than myself."

Glimmer laughs that same, proper, tinkling laugh she always gives, the one honed for years at finishing school. It sends a chill down his spine. Katniss never laughs like that. Really, she doesn't laugh much at all. Her reasons for laughing are so few and far between, but when she does, it lights up the entire room.

And for a moment Peeta loses himself in thoughts of the dark-haired girl who at this very moment is probably singing at The Hob in front of a crowd of drunken, dirty men. What he wouldn't give to have her sing only for the pleasure of it. What he wouldn't do to protect her from their hungry, leering gazes. He wonders how she's doing, whether she's been able to sleep soundly since that first night. He knows he certainly hasn't.

"Peeta, are you listening?"

His blue eyes snap from their reverie back to the porcelain skin of the heiress before him, her lips pressed into a bemused line as she observes him. He opens his mouth to reply, but a soft hand finds his elbow and Delly appears beside him.

"I believe that dinner is served," the petite blonde smiles up at him, her pale blue eyes twinkling mischievously. If anyone can tell that Peeta is in an uncomfortable situation right now, it is Delly. "And, Peeta, I begged your mother to allow us to sit next to one another. We have hardly had any time to see one another this summer."

Delly gives him a disappointed pout before dragging him away from Glimmer. Peeta gives the other woman an apologetic glance before he allows Delly to guide him from the room, though not before he catches the angry glare Glimmer throws his dearest friend.

"You owe me twice, Peeta Mellark," Delly mutters as they join the dinner party around the table. "Once for the Christmas gift and once for just now. I must be the best friend in the world."

Peeta chuckles as he pulls her chair out and helps her get settled at the table. "I do not believe anyone doubted your dedication to this friendship, Delly. But thank you."

Peeta sits and Axel takes the seat to his left. He spots Glimmer at the far end of the table looking petulant as the sharp-faced, grey-eyed man from earlier sits beside her.

"How did you manage to mix yourself up in the claws of Glimmer Hamilton?" Delly asks curiously, pulling his gaze back to her. She grins knowingly up at him. Clearly Miss Hamilton carries a reputation with her among the ladies of this social circle.

"I met her at the Charity Ball and – well, I was in a bad place then." He clears his throat nervously and Delly frowns, waiting for him to explain.

When he doesn't, she leans in closer to his ear. "Did that —the bad place, I mean— have anything to do with your cousin?"

Peeta turns to her, wide cerulean eyes meeting her paler ones before he admits, "It had everything to do with her."

"Oh, Peeta," she muses softly, a little frown pulling at her sweet bow lips.

He shakes his head ever so slightly, glancing around them before adding in a whisper that is just barely audible, "Things are better now, Delly. Complicated, of course," he gives a rueful snort, "but better."

She eyes him skeptically as gloved servants place the first course before them, searching for something in him that he can't quite put a name to, but when she finds it, she turns her attention back to the food before her.

A loud guffaw echoes from the opposite side of the table and both young adults turn their eyes on the grey-eyed man Peeta first noticed in the drawing room. He is laughing with Mayor Undersee about something and the very sound of his laughter seems sinister.

"Who is that man?" Peeta questions under his breath, deciding already that he's not fond of him.

"He is the new Chief Officer of the police force, Mr. Romulous Thread," Delly answers without hesitation. Peeta gives her a questioning glance and she shrugs. "What? All I am expected to know is needlepoint, dancing, and people. I have decided to make it my mission to know every face in the city. It might prove useful one day."

Peeta could practically kiss the blonde woman beside him if he weren't so distracted by the conversation across from him. He pretends to be intrigued by the dish in front of him but keeps a keen ear to their hushed words.

"- expect that there will be consequences to such dealings. I must be careful, Romulus. It is an election year after all," Peeta catches the end of Mayor Undersee's sentence.

The other man – Thread – huffs unpleasantly, "What's important is to get this city back under control, sir. The best way to do that is to converge our forces. People listen when they hear his name attached to something, and yet they laugh in the face of our police force every day."

"Perhaps that is because Mr. Snow's enforcers aren't bound by the law," Mr. Undersee's argument has suddenly become the center of the dinner guests' attention and the room has fallen silent. Peeta lifts his gaze and finds his mother staring raptly at the two men. "They terrorize the masses into submission because they can punish whomever, however they see fit."

"Perhaps that is the way it should be," Office Thread shrugs indignantly. "All I am saying is Snow is a powerful ally. You need the voters to know that you still haven't lost your strong hand, that you still hold the power you did when you were first elected as mayor. You need to clean up the city; he can do that."

"You forget that he is a criminal as well," Mayor Undersee glances down at his plate, dabbing absentmindedly at his lips with one of the fine linen napkins Peeta's mother painstakingly chose for this evening's festivities.

"Is it not true that sometimes a little evil is necessary to protect the greater good?" Peeta's gaze snaps to his mother who has just spoken. She levels both men with a cool look when she continues, "At least with Snow under your thumb you can ensure you know what is going on in your city, Mayor."

Mayor Undersee's cheeks blush a bright scarlet, and Peeta expects steam to start pouring from his ears at any moment, but it never does and the flush subsides after a few long, deep breaths.

"I could lose the election if it gets out that I befriended a mob leader," he points out flatly.

"Oh please," Adelaide Mellark scoffs in that characteristically haughty voice she always uses when she gets on one of her tangents, "You act as though the Mayor of New York City doesn't do the exact same thing."

"Thank you, Mrs. Mellark," Officer Thread grins, clearly proud that someone of such standing would take his side. He seems quite determined to solidify an alliance between the mayor and the city's most prominent rising mob leader. Thread fixes his gaze back on Mayor Undersee. "You also seem to be forgetting the mob has ways to make those candidates they back the winners of elections. It is always fascinating how many men come out of the woodwork to vote when the mob is involved – even men that were believed to be dead."

Peeta's skin crawls at the older man's implications. It's not that he doesn't know that the city is rife with corruption, but to see it occurring under his own roof is quite another thing. To know for a fact that the American political and justice systems are both entangled with the illegal underground movement is chilling at best.

Delly's petite hand finds his elbow and gives it a nervous squeeze. She's disturbed by the turn this conversation has taken as well. The discussion continues and Peeta is quickly introduced to a world of political loopholes and verbal promises. By the time dessert is served, the Mayor has conceded to secretly join hands with the mob in order to secure his victory in the election. Peeta no longer has much of an appetite as the cherry tart is placed before him and he looses himself in thoughts and worries about what this could mean, what kind of changes it will bring.

Judging by the look of concern creasing Delly's brow, he would guess he's not the only one present tonight who is worried. Whatever changes this pact might cause, it's not to be expected that they will be for the better.

…

_Katniss_

"Snow is gaining power."

The words immediately catch my attention even though they're muttered quietly from halfway across the nearly empty room. I am clearly distracted, and the young mill worker that I was speaking to flashes an irritated look my way before bidding his farewells for the night. Once he departs, I turn my focus back to the bar.

Finnick grimaces after taking a long swig of some of Haymitch's strongest scotch, seemingly trying to drown his earlier words in the liquor.

Haymitch's eyes narrow but he leans forward, resting his elbows on the dingy counter. "What do you mean? How would you hear that?"

"I have my ways." Finnick gives a tight smile, pressing his glass forward to indicate he wants it filled again. "He's gathering men from the poorest parts of the city – those that are most desperate. It's not a good sign, Haymitch. I've seen it happen in other places on smaller scales. Men like the ones he's after will do anything. They have nothing to lose and everything to gain."

I shuffle up beside the copper-haired man, gathering the lavender satin of my dress around me as a scowl plants itself firmly across my face. Simply the name Snow is enough to send my skin crawling these days, but what Finnick is implying sounds downright terrifying. His green eyes meet my silver ones with an air of surprise.

"It's late, sweetheart. You ought to be getting upstairs for some shut eye," Haymitch suggests, voice as gruff as ever though his gaze shows his concern. I know he is worried that this conversation is too serious for me, that I'm too fragile.

I hold my ground and Finnick cracks a little smile.

"Let her stay," he says, patting the seat beside him. "She has more spitfire than most men her age."

Haymitch chuckles. "You've got me there, boy, but a woman doesn't need to be worried about this sort of thing-"

"I will worry about what I please," I interrupt, irritated that both men seem determined to make my decisions for me. Finnick bites his lower lip, holding back a mischievous grin.

He seems so unaffected by what happened a few weeks ago, what I made him do. I wonder if he has been able to sleep since his hands closed around Marvel's neck. Save for the first night spent in Peeta's arms, sleep has been unable to claim me for more than a few hours at any given time.

"You know I have reason to concern myself with Snow's business," I state evenly, staring pointedly at the younger man and he nods a moment later, a silent assent to inform me of everything he knows.

He runs a hand through his copper locks, turning back to face Haymitch with a grim look. "The rumor is that he has wormed his way into the Mayor's decision making. Not sure how he managed it. Some say that he's got the police chief in the palm of his hand. Others say he's in bed with the big man's daughter-"

I scoff at this. I do not claim to know Margaret Undersee well, but I do believe I know her enough to safely say she would never be bed by a criminal.

"Do I need to worry that he will come here?" I question frankly; there is no reason to beat around the bush about it.

Any trace of a smile on Finnick's face disappears instantly. He shakes his head slowly and shrugs. "I don't know, Katniss. There are rumors that he has men trolling the city under the guise that they are working for the mayor to clean up the streets – you know, remove the scum. The thing is, I hear whispers that the people being targeted aren't the city's notorious criminals – they are the people who have a debt with Snow and they're disappearing before they ever land themselves in jail."

My face must give away my fear because Finnick takes my hand in his, giving me a gentle, comforting smile before adding, "I don't think it's him we need to worry about, though. I think his men are the bigger threat. Snow prefers not to get his hands dirty."

"Why are you still so worried about that man, sweetheart?" Haymitch arches an eyebrow in my direction. "I told you I wasn't going to let him buy you off of me; I meant it."

His words bring a scowl to my worried face. "It would be difficult to sell what you do not already own."

He levels me with a serious look that makes him appear entirely too sober for the half-empty whiskey bottle in front of him. "It was never a matter of possession, sweetheart. It has always been about keeping you safe."

Finnick blinks and we both fall silent. I certainly never expected such sentiments to fall from Haymitch Abernathy's lips.

"Don't go thinking I'm soft now," he snaps shortly when he notices my perplexed look. After a long, silent moment he adds, "You remind me of my Maysilee."

Suddenly, he seems to find the table under his elbows fascinating as he runs his yellowing fingernails along the rough grain of its wood. It is all so uncharacteristic of Haymitch that I can't think to do anything other than wait for him to continue.

"I could not do my job protecting her," Haymitch mutters, his tone utterly heartbreaking as he picks at a crack in the wood's surface. "She died in one of those factories and they called it an accident, said they couldn't have prevented it." His grey eyes finally shift up to meet mine. "I knew it was a lie, though. She was always so careful. Maysi never would have left her machine running while she went beneath it-"

I can hear his breath catch in his throat, but he doesn't need to say any more. I worked in the factories long enough to hear the stories of women who got caught in their machines. Rue was one of the lucky ones; I am aware of that much. Haymitch probably only had a mangled body to mourn once it was pulled from whatever machinery killed her.

"Then, fifteen years later, some silly Seam girl comes barging into my back room demanding a job and her eyes burn with life just like my Maysilee's always did. You are a fierce young woman, I saw that from the start, and I'll be damned if I let some mob boss's henchmen make you do something you don't want."

I look to Finnick, but judging by his wide-eyed gaze, he never knew about this part of Haymitch's past either. I reach a hand across the table to Haymitch, but he pulls away.

"Don't you go doing that, sweetheart," he growls in his most surly manner. "I don't need your sympathies, or your sad eyes."

He doesn't wait for me to reply, disappearing to his tiny room in back with a slam of the door. I realize that, for the first time I can remember, Haymitch sounded almost tender as he called me sweetheart. It always felt like more of an insult before tonight.

"I never would have expected that from Haymitch," Finnick states under his breath, still wearing a look of shock, as though trying to process what has just passed.

"Do you honestly think that Snow will leave us alone?" I question anxiously. "Finnick, we killed one of his men."

"He was an underling. I doubt that Snow even knew the man by name." He reaches out to pat my hand with a comforting smile. "The man probably has bigger worries on his mind right now, Katniss. Try not to lose sleep over it. Your pretty pout might suffer."

He taps my chin with the back of one finger and I can't bite back my own smile.

"It is not a pout, Mr. Odair," I argue. "A lady never pouts."

"Then it is a good thing that you are not a lady." He stands, brushing his suit and slacks absentmindedly to remove any wrinkles in the fabric. I laugh at the silly grin he directs toward me. In our relatively short time of knowing one another, I have come to consider Finnick Odair as one of my closest allies if not a friend. We were thrown together by circumstance rather than choice, but I appreciate his steady presence in my life all the same.

A chilly breeze rushes through the room and I turn to see a familiar mop of blonde curls enter our dingy surroundings. Several of the girls are still milling around a table in the back corner of the room and they eye him with unbridled interest. It isn't often that we see such a clean-cut man cross the threshold of The Hob after the show has already closed.

"Hello," he murmurs shyly once his eyes search me out, inclining his head slightly towards Finnick beside me.

My lips split into a grin of their own accord and he smiles back, running a hand nervously over the back of his neck.

"Peeta," Finnick greets cheerfully, "it's wonderful to see your cherubic face once again, my friend."

He chuckles uncomfortably, a subtle blush finding its way to his cheeks. I take pity on him and tug him into the empty back room away from the leering gazes of the other girls. The way they stare at him ignites a foreign feeling of possessiveness deep in my belly. Peeta Mellark is entirely too handsome a man for a woman to hold onto if she isn't careful. There are too many women who notice him simply when he walks through the door. I wouldn't put it past any one of them to snatch him away while I am not looking.

"What are you doing here?" I question once we're safely hidden away from prying eyes.

He smiles softly, looking far more relaxed now that we are alone. "You don't mind, do you? I know the other girls were watching us. If it makes you uncomfortable to be seen with me, I will not do it again. I will only sneak in through the back door at night once everyone is in their rooms."

I shake my head resting a palm against his cheek. "No, Peeta," I say gently, pressing myself closer to him, "I don't want you sneaking around to see me. I have nothing to hide from the other girls. We are doing nothing wrong."

His smile at my words is beautiful and he leans forward, planting a kiss against my forehead. I notice, when he pulls away, just how tired he looks. There are dark circles beneath his eyes and his shoulders sag as though they take too much effort to hold up. I lean up on my toes, brushing my lips against his jaw.

"You look exhausted," I point out, letting my fingers trace along the tired lines of his face.

"I haven't slept soundly since that night," he admits, letting his eyes flutter closed for a moment under my touch before his piercing gaze meets mine. "How are you? I couldn't wait another moment to see you again."

I look up at him ruefully before confessing, "I haven't been able to sleep either. What if someone finds out about what we have done?"

His arms find their way around my waist and somehow he manages to encircle me with his warmth, a comforting cloak blocking out every worry that insists on hounding my mind. He presses his face against the crook of my neck and breathes heavily, the rush of air tickling my neck in the most delightful of ways. I melt into him and wish that this could last forever.

"They won't, Katniss. Only Finnick knows what happened besides you and me," Peeta murmurs softly against my skin, the vibration of his words causing my skin beneath his lips to pebble. "I do not pretend to know the man well, but I trust him. You are safe, Katniss." He pulls away so our eyes can meet. "I will protect you until my dying breath. I promise you that."

I find that there are many people trying to protect me, and all I really want is to tuck him away, to keep Peeta safe. He's too pure to be caught up in all of this mess that I have created. He deserves so much more than anything I have to offer, but I don't want to give him up. I want to cling to him and accept whatever affection he has to give me. I never feel safer than when I am in his arms; I do not need any other protection. We protect one another, and that is more than enough for tonight.

I bury my face against his shirt and sigh. Until now, I had not allowed myself to realize just how exhausted I am. My muscles ache and my eyes burn from the lack of a good night's sleep; I suspect Peeta must feel much the same. His nose brushes along the curve of my neck as he wraps his arms around me more securely, pulling me as close to him as humanly possible.

His name falls from my lips on a heavy sigh and a groan echoes from deep inside his chest. Slowly, his lips find the tender skin of my neck and my fingers move up to tangle themselves in his curls. His touch is utterly blissful, and the thought of him leaving tonight is simply unimaginable. I find myself tugging his hand gently, guiding him up the narrow staircase and down the darkened hallway to my room.

"Will you stay the night again?" I ask shyly. I know it isn't proper, and I should not be asking him to do this for me, but I am so terribly desperate for a good night's sleep that I could not care less for manners.

He nods wordlessly, shrugging his overcoat off and settling himself on the creaky bed. His blue eyes flit about the room uncertainly and I wonder if he's only agreeing to this out of some misguided obligation towards me.

"You – you don't have to stay. That is, I don't mean to make you stay, Peeta," I offer quietly, silently praying that he won't change his mind. He looks to me and his eyes widen slightly.

His large hands seek out my own where I have managed to tangle them anxiously in the skirts of my gown. They are as warm and gentle as ever when they tug me closer to him, guiding me to stand between his knees. He frees one hand to cup my cheek and tilt my lowered gaze to his before he whispers, "If I could have it my way, I would never leave you again, Katniss. Don't ever for a moment think that want to leave you."

My heart skitters delightedly against my chest at the earnestness in his gaze. I lean forward and press my lips to his, softly sucking his bottom lip between mine. He makes a contented noise that sends heat spiraling through me, making me dizzy. His hands move to grasp my hips tightly, holding me that much closer to him. The taste of Peeta is intoxicating and I nip greedily at his lips as he pulls away, an embarrassingly, desperate whine escaping me. I am not sure what has gotten into me, and I would be appalled if I had my wits about me, but Peeta doesn't seem put off by my wanton behaviors. Rather, by the look in his eyes, I would wager that he is quite enjoying himself as well.

"We should rest," he says, his voice lower than normal as he stands. "We should stop before I find myself unable to."

I nod in agreement, although my body screams to continue. I step away from him and he stands, turning quickly to face the wall.

"What are you doing?" I question softly. Perhaps I have done something to offend him.

He turns his head ever so slightly, bringing the strong line of his jaw into view before he speaks. "I thought you might wish to change into your nightclothes. I expect that corset isn't very comfortable for sleeping."

"Oh." The word slips quietly past my lips and I feel silly that I had not thought of this detail.

I reach for the line of tiny hooks down the back of my dress that fasten it but realize quite quickly that I am unable to reach the majority of them. If I were dressed in my own wardrobe, this wouldn't be an issue since I never buy any dresses that require a second person to get into. Cinna's creations, however, are quite another thing and there are always plenty of hands to help out before and after shows if I change in the back room.

I struggle for several minutes before giving a disgruntled huff that catches Peeta's attention. He turns to me, a pale eyebrow raised in question.

"I cannot reach the clasps," I admit reluctantly, my cheeks flushing with heat.

"Turn." He motions with a twirl of a finger, those blue eyes causing my heart to flutter nervously as I do. "I can help you," he adds just above a whisper.

His hands move quickly along the row of hooks, brushing gently against me as he works. I try to conceal the shiver that runs through me when he leans closer to release a particularly obstinate clasp, his warm breath pouring over the delicate skin of my neck as he does.

Soon —too soon perhaps— he is stepping away. He tugs the ties of my corset and turns around without a word, allowing me to loosen the laces myself and slip into the thin shift I have taken to wearing at night.

"Alright," I whisper, hoping that the breathless word doesn't give away the effect Peeta has had on me. "You can turn around."

His eyes darken as they take me in and my hands fidget self-consciously. He's never seen me dressed so immodestly aside from his visit to my room the night we disposed of Marvel's body and even then I had tried to cover myself with the quilt currently lying on my bed. I am frightened that he might see something that he doesn't like, that he might change his mind and decide I am not worth all of the trouble after all, that he might leave me.

"Please, say something," I croak, glancing down to stare at my naked feet, unable to hold his gaze when I am so certain he will change his mind about everything – that he will leave me to fight the demons of the night on my own.

Peeta does not speak, though. Instead, he crosses the space between us in two quick strides, reaches out to gently lift my chin, and meets my lips with his own in a kiss much more fevered than those we shared just moments earlier.

I whimper softly when his tongue traces against the crease of my lips, begging entrance, which I allow a moment later. His tongue glides against mine as heat pools deep in my belly, begging for more to feed the fire quickly growing within me. Peeta releases a heavy groan that steals my breath away.

I press myself closer to him, allowing my hands to rest on his broad, muscled shoulders. His fingers grasp firmly at my waist, holding me steady as he sucks gently at my bottom lip before dipping his head to trace warm, open-mouthed kisses along my jaw.

"Peeta." His name escapes my lips on a sigh as my knees wobble precariously beneath me. His touch is overwhelming; my body melts under his hands and I can no longer think clearly.

He pulls his lips away from my skin and tugs me over to the bed where he sits and guides me onto his lap. I find myself straddling his muscular thighs, the hem of my shift bunched up to my thighs. I lean forward, pressing my lips at the corner of his strong jaw, resting my trembling hands against his chest, still heaving with labored breath.

"I want you," he rasps, the words resonating in his chest beneath my hands as my stomach twists excitedly. A large, warm hand brushes along my thigh, moving the thin fabric of my shift with it. I stare into his blue eyes, darkened with a passion I can barely fathom. I realize that I want him too, but the words are stuck somewhere in my throat.

My trembling hands slide along the clean, crisp fabric of his shirt, catching on the buttons that I want so desperately to undo. A foreign, but intense need pulses through my veins as his thumbs caress gentle circles against my upper thighs. He's waiting for me to say something, his eyes full of lust and hope. My lips can't find words, though; I have never been good with words.

I press my chest to Peeta's instead, closing any space that exists between us, meeting his lips in a passionate kiss, one that would embarrass me under any other circumstances and with any other man. But this is Peeta – my Peeta.

A moan rises from the back of his throat and it settles inside of me with a shiver. I need to be nearer to him. I shift my hips against him and he gasps, his lips parting from mine for a moment, his eyes boring into my soul, worshiping me. I like the sound of his gasp very much. I look away shyly but I can still feel his arousal pressing against my center, telling me just how he feels about our exchange. Suddenly, I also become aware of the wet heat gathering between my thighs. It's a sensation I have never felt before and my cheeks flush as I wonder whether such a reaction is normal.

I don't allow myself much time for thought, however, before I lean forward and take his bottom lip, glistening from our earlier kisses, between my own. My hips thrust against him again and this time I find that I am the one gasping as a pleasurable spark ignites between my thighs. The friction of his pants causes tendrils of pleasure to curl around my nerves. I have never felt anything like it before and I mimic the same motion again. An unsteady hand finds its way to Peeta's shoulder in shock.

I look to him with wide eyes and find that his own eyes are dark, only a thin ring of vivid blue is visible. His hands steady my hips and slowly, gently, hesitantly guide them forward again as he gives a low moan. I whimper softly when he buries his face against my neck, nuzzling the tender skin. We continue to rock against one another, all gasps and shallow breaths, drowning in the pleasure we bring one another.

With heavy lidded eyes, Peeta pulls away, receiving a disgruntled groan from me.

"Do you trust me?" he questions, his voice heavy with lust. My brow creases with confusion, but I nod. Of course I trust him; I wouldn't be in the compromising position I am right now if I didn't. He smirks before he dips his head.

"Peeta!" The word is barely a squeak I am so shocked.

"Hmpf?" he grunts in question as his mouth latches on to my breast, sucking softly at the erect bud through my thin nightgown.

My cheeks turn an unflattering shade of scarlet, but his mouth feels so impossibly good. "Wh – what are you doing?" I question, my voice trembling as I do. He moves his lips away and peers up at me through long, golden lashes.

"Making you feel good?" His voice hitches on the last word, making it sound more like a question than I believe he intends. His own cheeks flush now and he glances down at the wet circle now present on my shift. "Does it not feel good?"

His hand reaches up, a thumb brushing over the taut point that gives away the way he makes my body feel.

"No," I say softly as his mouth descends upon the opposite breast while his hand gently kneads the other. I release a shaky sigh. "I – it feels wonderful, Peeta," I admit.

My hands follow the firm muscles of his back and find their way to his disheveled curls, carding through the soft, golden locks. His teeth nip at my breast and my hips jerk against him, causing us both to moan out in unison. He repeats the motion only a moment later and I thrust against him once more. We fall into a pattern and soon the pleasure curls within me again, building like smoke from a fire and permeating every fiber of my being. It grows and grows, racing me towards something I cannot even name, but that I know I want very much.

I become a woman possessed. This is why they teach us from infant-hood that a lady must remain the very picture of chastity. We must preserve our most valuable asset. One touch and Peeta has transformed me into some wanton being that cannot be controlled.

His lips move from my breast and latch onto the sensitive triangle of skin that connects my neck and shoulder. He groans lowly, his fingers digging desperately against my hips as they guide me to rock against his growing arousal. He sucks firmly at the skin and I tug him away from my shoulder to meet his lips with my own. I swallow his moan as our tongues meet, sliding slowly against one another.

"Katniss," he cries against my lips, his eyes screwing shut tightly for a moment before opening to stare passionately into mine as he shudders. His hands try to hold my hips still, but I cannot stop my movements. I am so very close to whatever it is my body is seeking, but I cannot catch it.

He buries his face in the waves of dark hair that have escaped my loose braid during our tryst while his hips twitch against mine irregularly for several long moments, and I begin to wonder if I have done something wrong. A frown tugs at my lips only seconds before Peeta quickly turns, lifting me from his lap and laying me down against the mattress where he had been sitting only moments before.

He leans forward, hungrily capturing my lips with his, stealing my breath as he does. His hand presses between my thighs and I give a small squeak in protest as I attempt to wriggle away. My cheeks flush at the thought that he can feel the heat and moisture that has gathered there. He doesn't seem disgusted by it though as I thought he might be. Instead his face is overcome with a lustful look that makes me shiver. His palm moves against the cleft of my thighs, recreating the friction from only moments ago when I had straddled his lap.

Suddenly it is there again, the thing that my body has been chasing. It builds and grows and all at once I feel as though I have jumped from a cliff and shattered into a thousand splinters of pure pleasure.

I cry out, Peeta's name falling from my lips like a prayer. He whispers beautiful things. He peppers kisses over every bit of exposed skin he can find. When I find control of my body again, I reach out to him with a quiet whimper. He smiles shyly, but crawls onto the bed beside me, allowing me to wrap myself around him.

We spend several silent moments finding our breath again as Peeta's hands trace every curve of my body. All at once I am hit with the memories of all the men who pass through The Hob's bedrooms every night and how they always leave by morning. I look at his flawless face and wonder what I have done. I need him now more than I ever have. His eyes are closed, his lips curled into a content smile, but how long will it last? I am used now. No man wants a used woman.

His eyes open slowly and his smile broadens when they focus on me. He presses a gentle kiss to my forehead, brushing a hand over my messed hair. Then he's standing and untangling himself from my arms and a desperate fear fills me, trying to strangle every bit of breath from me. It's too soon. He can't leave now. I should at least have him until morning.

"P - Peeta." It comes out as a weak cry while my hand wraps around his thick wrist.

A frown mars his face when he turns back towards me. His gaze is questioning as it searches mine. Tears gather in my eyes as I tug on his wrist, desperately hoping he will come back to bed, that he will just give me a few more hours with which to burn him into my memory.

"D – do not leave," I plead shakily, "Stay with me, Peeta."

His muscles visibly relax as he steps closer to me, taking my hand from his wrist and pressing a kiss to my palm. "Always, Katniss. As long as you will have me, I will not leave you," he promises.

I climb to my knees on the old mattress and wrap my arms around him before he can move away from me again. His arms tenderly find their way around my waist and he gives a throaty chuckle. I sniffle against his neck and he pulls away, fixing me with a sad smile as he wipes the stray tears from my cheeks.

"I need to clean up, that's all. I was never leaving." His eyes dart down to his pants and mine follow, noting the darkened area on the front of his trousers. I wonder if all the moisture I felt between my thighs did that and my cheeks burn brightly with embarrassment.

"I am sorry," I apologize in a mortified whisper.

Peeta chuckles softly at first, but then it grows into full-blown laughter. His large hands cup my cheeks and he presses a kiss to my lips, his eyes alight when he pulls away.

"Do not apologize for that, Katniss," he corrects, peppering kisses along my cheeks and then my neck. "Didn't it feel wonderful to you as well?" he questions, pulling away to gaze uncertainly at me. "I had thought – well I thought you… you know."

I don't know, actually, but I think I understand what he means. He must have felt that same earth-shattering pleasure that I had. I give a tiny smile and nod, earning a toothy grin from him.

He gives me one last feverish kiss before breaking away once again. "You get beneath the covers before you catch a chill. I will just clean these pants up and then I will join you, if you will allow it, of course."

I shuffle on the bed, managing to pull the thin quilt up around me before shooting him a content smile. "I'll allow it."

His smile glows like sunlight itself before he makes his way to the small, cracked washbasin in the corner of my room. The single candle doesn't provide much light, but it allows me to watch his steady movements until he returns to me. My eyes are heavy with exhaustion and contentment. Tonight Peeta has chased away all the fears and nightmares that I have been trying to battle on my own. I know that, at least for one night, I am safe.

…

_Peeta_

It's been two weeks since Katniss took him to her bed, since she let him touch her and share her body. Two weeks since he fell apart beneath her. Two weeks since he held her in his arms and prayed that one day she might agree to sleep in his arms every night for the rest of her life. He can still remember the earthy scent of her hair as she burrowed against his chest. He can remember the way her lips curled up ever so slightly as though she was thinking of some joke he wasn't privy to – or maybe, Peeta sometimes allows himself to believe, he makes her happy enough to bring that smile to her lips.

Peeta dawdles about his room all morning having slept through breakfast, the first time he's actually slept a full night in two weeks. When his stomach growls insistently, he lazily prepares for the day, dressing in his most comfortable pair of slacks and starched shirt.

Glancing out the large window in his room, Peeta notices the heavy grey clouds to the west. The afternoon sun filters through weakly, illuminating the yellowing grass and bare trees. The room has a chill about it that bodes a change in the weather. He wouldn't be surprised if the first snow of the season came early this year.

"'Afternoon, Mr. Mellark," one of the scullery maids greets when he pushes into the bustling kitchen. The room is already warm from the ovens and hot water steaming in the sinks.

"Good Afternoon, Mary," Peeta smiles at her, sneaking a cheesebun from the tray cooling on the large island in the center of the kitchen. He looks around and notices there are several silver trays set out in varying states of completion carrying dainty little sandwiches and pastries. He frowns. "What is going on today? Where is all this food going?"

Mary turns to him, all curves and lush black curls. She's quite pretty and Peeta has noticed more than a few times the way Axel smiles at her when he sneaks into the kitchen for a snack or just a quick chat.

"Your mother has invited several ladies over for tea this afternoon," Mary explains, patting her hands dry on her apron before heading to the ovens to pull out a new batch of scones.

"She left us with the work of preparing a proper spread without enough time in which to do it because she didn't see the point in telling us earlier," grunts the head of the kitchen staff, Mrs. Jackson, a surly old woman who has always had a soft spot for the youngest Mellark though he wagers that her kindness is only because he lets her grouse about his mother without reproach.

"And I am sure you'll still manage to do a fantastic job," Peeta soothes the older woman. She swats at him, but a knowing smile plays at the corners of her mouth, and Peeta knows he has sweet-talked her once again.

"There is a plate for you in the icebox," Mrs. Jackson huffs before turning back to plating tiny pastries. He snatches one out from under her fingers and chuckles as he manages to get out of her reach just before she boxes one of his ears. He retrieves his plate without another word and disappears towards the sunroom at the back of the house where he plans to eat what the maids have prepared him in peace.

He stops in his tracks when he hears the hushed voices of his mother and several other women he doesn't recognize right away.

"Already I can see the difference their alliance has made," Adelaide Mellark's voice carries to Peeta where he stands just outside the drawing room the women have gathered in. "Your husband is a wise man, Merriam."

Peeta frowns. The name Merriam is unfamiliar to him. Normally his mother is extremely hesitant to invite new women into her social circles.

"The city is already so much safer." He recognizes Glimmer Hamilton's smooth voice. It seems his mother was breaking with tradition when she decided on this tea party. He represses an involuntary shudder when she continues, "Who knows, by the new year we may have a city free of that ugly Seam. All those retched people – it makes me sick just to think of it."

"It is not without a price, though," the soft voice, Merriam's, speaks. "Snow has begun to request personal favors of Romulus."

Peeta quickly realizes that the soft-spoken woman is the same mousey wife of Romulus Thread that he saw not a month ago at his mother's dinner.

"What favors could the man possibly need?" Adelaide questions haughtily, "He has more money and power than almost any man in the city."

"He asked him to raid one of the brothels in the Seam."

Peeta's chest turns to stone and he nearly drops his plate. Quickly, he sets the china dish down before he has the chance to shatter it and risk missing out on the rest of the ladies' conversation.

"Why would he need the police for that?" Glimmer questions curiously. "Can't he just use his mob men?"

"Romulus says that Snow wants the extra muscle for the job. He says that the raid is related to something of a personal nature. He would not say what exactly, but I suspect it has to do with one of the women living there."

"Well, good riddance, and may he burn the sinful pit to the ground," Adelaide states passionately.

All the blood drains from Peeta's face and he backs away from the door as silently as he can. There is only one brothel that Peeta can think of that Snow would concern himself with. Thread's wife is correct. His request is because of one of the women there, but she is not some harlot like the women in the next room believe. She is the girl he loves.

Peeta stops only long enough to put on a jacket before rushing outside. His father is out with the automobile, so a carriage will have to do, though it will take him twice as long to get to the Seam. He looks to the dimming grey light as the sun fights to peak through the gathering grey clouds. He just hopes he will arrive in time.

…

_Katniss_

The night is a quiet one. It is a Sunday, the only night of the week we do not indulge in performing since most men are required at home by their families and Sunday services at church. With the factories closed for the day, there isn't much foot traffic in this part of town either.

It is this one night a week that I allow myself to take a warm bath and to read whatever little novellas or newspapers I can get my hands on. It is not much, but it is my retreat from the world. Tonight, I find myself distracted by thoughts of Peeta as I slip into my nightclothes after drying my body with a worn towel.

It has already been two weeks since he last visited and each day my body aches to have him near again. How often have I found myself searching for him amongst the people walking along the street when I look out my window? When I take a moment to glance out the window now, I see that a steady snow has started to fall. It is early in the season for such weather, but it still manages to take my breath away with its beauty.

I curl up in bed with the day's paper and frown at the headline. Another six people have gone missing from the Seam this week. Ever since Finnick mentioned Snow's rising power, this has become a much more common occurrence. People are never found again; their bodies just vanish.

My eyes grow heavy despite the riveting news. It has been a long day and I nod off before I even manage to blow the candle out beside me.

…

"Katniss!"

My eyes snap open instantly and I hear heavy feet stomping up the stairs. Clove shouts for quiet, but it does nothing to subdue the visitor whose voice I recognize instantly when he calls out my name again.

"Katniss!" Peeta begins pounding on my door before I can jump from my bed and when I swing the door open, he barrels in with a frantic look on his face.

"Peeta, what on earth-"

"We have to leave," he wheezes, clearly breathless from running from God knows where. He grabs me lightly by the shoulders. "We must leave now."

I frown. "What are you talking about, Peeta? Have you gone insane?"

"It's Snow," he says glancing around the room as though expecting him to appear at any moment. "He is coming with Thread; they are going to raid The Hob. I think they are coming for you."

My blood runs cold and my hands begin to shake as though my body realizes before my mind just what kind of danger we might be in.

"That's not possible," I whisper dazedly, "Haymitch pays Thread off every month."

He shakes his head fervently, "I know he does, but Snow has more power than Haymitch." When I don't make a move, Peeta shakes me by the shoulders. "Don't you hear me? We have to run. They'll be here any minute."

"How do you know about this?" I demand suspiciously.

"I overheard my mother. She was having tea with Thread's wife this afternoon. Please, Katniss, we can't take any chances. Please," he begs, "just come with me. Let me keep you safe."

The shouting starts downstairs and I let out a pathetic yelp, reaching out for Peeta's hands. Chairs thud loudly as they are overturned and glass shatters against the floor.

"Katniss, please," Peeta repeats and his fear becomes my own. Snow is hunting me and he'll make sure I pay for all that I have done. He won't be refused this time. At best he could have me imprisoned under the pretense that I have participated in prostitution, at best I will become the first person to suddenly disappear this week.

"Peeta," I whisper frantically, barely audible over the shouts of the men downstairs as they turn the place over. "What do we do?"

Wordlessly, he takes me by the hand without another moment's hesitation, leading me down the back stairs. The men are still in the front room and they're shouting incoherently. They have caught someone and my stomach turns when I recognize the voice.

"I don't know what you are talking about," Cinna's smooth voice caries to us where we stand on the threshold of the back door.

"This way, Katniss," Peeta whispers, dragging me out the backdoor.

"Peeta, wait!" I pull my arm from his grip and look towards the door that leads to the front of The Hob. "We have to go back. They have Cinna."

"You can't help him, Katniss," Peeta replies, reaching out to take my hand tightly in his once again.

"You don't understand!" I say, my voice frantic as he pulls me further away.

He stops for a moment, a worried look on his face when he turns back to look at me.

"Cinna is Creole," I explain softly. "They will hurt him because he is colored."

"We can't go back inside, Katniss. They'll find us for sure." Peeta gives me a remorseful look, but remains firm in his decision. "Perhaps they will leave him alone. They really might just be after you."

Fear for my own survival swells within me followed by a desperate need to protect Peeta from the men just one room away. I am certain they will harm him if they figure out what he means to me. I swallow against the bitter taste in my mouth when I nod, allowing Peeta to guide me down the alley beside The Hob.

We stick to the shadows, rounding the front of the building I have come to call home. Peeta leads the way through the fresh, fine layer of snow on the ground, a few flakes still falling around us. We have crossed the road and are hurrying away from The Hob when a shaft of yellow light pierces the night and the sound of a scuffle shatters its silence.

Peeta pulls me behind a cart parked along the street but never releases my hand. A shiver runs through me and I realize just how cold it is, my breath coming in frosty puffs from my lips.

"Oh, good heavens," Peeta murmurs. "You must be freezing." A blush rises to his cheeks as he notices my appearance for the first time.

I'm still in only my shift. My arms are as bare as the day I was born, and the fabric is thin enough that the wind bites easily through it. Thankfully, I had never taken a fancy to walking around The Hob's questionable floors barefoot otherwise I wouldn't be wearing my most worn boots.

"Here," he says, throwing his overcoat around my shoulders. It's still warm with his heat and I pull it tightly around me, sliding my arms into the sleeves. It's far too large for me, but that only seems to increase the coat's ability to keep out the chill.

"Won't you be cold?" I ask, though I hope he doesn't decide to take it back because I don't wish to leave its warmth.

"I'll be a right bit warmer than you even without it. At least I have pants and a proper shirt on," he remarks, the surprise in his voice nearly enough to make me smile. A sudden flurry of movement across the street commands my attention however, reminding me exactly why we're hiding outside on a freezing street this late at night.

Thread stomps out of The Hob dragging Cinna along behind him, the gentle man not even putting up a fight.

Peeta leans closer to me and I lean back into him to assure myself he most certainly is still there. I am not alone.

"Where is she?" Thread spits venomously once he drags Cinna to the middle of the road.

Cinna turns his head calmly to face his questioner. "I don't know," he says in his lilting accent, voice still smooth as cream even though he must be terrified. He knows as well as I do that he's in a very dangerous situation surrounded by three, armed, white men.

"Don't lie to me!" Thread brings his face so close to Cinna's they nearly touch. "You dress her. She lives upstairs. You know where she is!"

"She should have been in her room upstairs," Cinna replies coolly. "If she wasn't there when you looked, she must have caught wind that you were coming."

"And how would she have known that?"

From where we remain hidden, I can see a vein popping out along Thread's forehead. He throws a punch firmly into Cinna's jaw and I cringe when blood spatters the snow below him.

"Maybe you should ask your men that, sir," Cinna states dryly, seemingly unfazed by the pain he must be experiencing. "She is a smart girl, though. She won't be back now that you've been here. You'll never find her."

Thread shouts out in frustration, kicking Cinna's ribs. A dull thud echoes through the silent night and I give a soft gasp. Peeta's hand tightens on mine and he wraps his free arm protectively around my waist.

Cinna gives a manic laugh once he regains his breath. "I would protect that girl to my dying breath. You might as well just make it quick, sir. No amount of beating will earn you the answers you seek."

There is a long silence as the two men stare one another down. Thread doesn't speak again until he lowers himself down on one knee before Cinna, giving a chilling smile.

"A girl is missing then and that calls for a full investigation," Thread says, sounding entirely too proud of himself. "Have you ever forced yourself on a white lady, you beast? Several woman have disappeared over the last few weeks. It would not be the first time that these types of disappearances were connected to a black man. Your people aren't known for controlling their sexual urges."

"I wouldn't know anything about that, sir," Cinna answers calmly. "Again, I would turn to your own men; you might find some answers."

"Liar!" the older man shouts.

"I never lied to you, sir."

"You dare argue with me, boy?" the captain's voice turns deadly.

"I dare to tell the truth, sir. I never committed any crime like you said," Cinna speaks firmly.

"I'll show you what happens to liars in my city, Mr. Dubois!" Thread sputters furiously. "Cray. Darius. Handle him."

"Sir?" Darius's hesitant voice floats on the cold wind whistling through the buildings.

"Shouldn't we just take him in to the station?" Cray questions.

"Is that how you treat your commander?" Thread demands, turning around in a circle, taking in all of his men with a feral look. "Fine! I'll take care of it myself," he says pulling out a nightstick.

Cinna doesn't try to move out of the way as the first blow lands across his temple.

"No!" I shout but Peeta's hand is suddenly clasped tightly over my mouth, muffling my scream and leaving room for Cinna's groan to fill the night. His arm tightens around my waist as I try to rush forward to Cinna. I writhe against Peeta with each fall of the nightstick, but he will not release me no matter how hard I jab or kick. I loathe him. How could he stand there so calmly while Cinna is beaten though he is innocent?

It seems like an eternity before Cinna's groans stop. My screams have died in my throat and I can barely breathe, but Peeta does not move his hand from where it still covers my mouth.

A man steps out of the shadows near The Hob's door. His hair is white even in the dim moonlight and he wears a neutral expression, as though the scene before him doesn't make him sick to his stomach.

"That is enough," he says coolly, motioning to the men still scattered in the street. "The Girl on Fire isn't here. She must have gotten a tip that we were coming for her. Take in that drunk, but let the other girls go. Question them, though. Be sure none of them knows about the girl's whereabouts."

It's Snow. I have never seen him in person, but I am certain of his identity. He doesn't wait to see that the men follow his orders, it's as though he knows no one would dare go against his words. He slips into an automobile waiting in the shadows of the street and drives off into the night.

I stare numbly at Cinna's body, limp and lifeless in the street. Peeta waits to release me until he's sure all of the police are gone and they have hauled Haymitch off to jail. As soon as his arm loosens around my waist, I rush to Cinna's side but I know it's too late the second I look at him.

His head is split open and covered in blood. His eyes are closed as though he might be dreaming but his chest is still and lifeless. I think I might vomit when I look at the dark red of his blood meeting the fresh, white snow. It is garish and sickening to look at. I can hear my breath coming too fast and short, rasping in my throat like something is stuck in there, trying to claw its way out.

"Cinna," I whisper, brushing a hand over his wiry, dark hair, "I am so sorry, Cinna."

Silent tears wash down my face as Peeta gently tugs at my elbow.

"There's nothing you can do, Katniss," he murmurs softly. "We must go. They might still come back, wait for you to show up."

I don't fight him as he pulls me to my feet and drags me off in a seemingly random direction. He is right. There's nothing I can do for Cinna now. He is dead because of me. He died protecting me.

We walk in silence for a long while, my sniffling the only sound besides the crunching of our shoes in the snow. Peeta's hand never leaves my elbow though; that's the only thing that keeps me moving. A soft sob escapes me and Peeta hands me a handkerchief identical to the one he had once given Prim - a white square of fine cloth with his initials embroidered in orange.

"I am sorry you had to see that, Katniss. They wouldn't have done that if they had known a lady was watching," he says, disapproval rooted deeply in his tone.

"They shouldn't have done that at all! Do you think that they were right?" I whisper angrily, fisting my hands in his handkerchief in hopes that it will hide my trembling.

He stares at me for a long moment, searching me. "No. I don't." He leans forward, pressing a tender kiss to my forehead and I suddenly notice that he is trembling too, shaken by what we have just witnessed. Guilt overcomes me for ever thinking Peeta could be the type of man that thinks the murder of a colored man is justified.

"I am so sorry, Katniss," he murmurs, his lips brushing softly against my forehead where they still rest.

I pull away only to reach up and press a kiss to his lips. "I'm sorry too," I admit, hoping he understands my apology. He brushes a large hand over my hair before reaching for my hand again.

"We should keep moving," he states, leading the way down a dark, familiar street. "It is freezing out here and I don't want you catching a chill. And we should get off the streets as soon as we can in case they come searching."

"Where are we going?" I question softly, realizing that we are only a few blocks from my family's apartment in the Seam.

"To a friend's home," Peeta replies as he tugs on my hand, guiding me up a crumbling staircase to an apartment building that looks as though it might be ready to collapse any moment. He gives me a gentle, promising look. "We will be safe here until morning."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to let me know what you think! I adore hearing from you all. You can also follow me on tumblr at therebelliondies dot tumblr dot com.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I know I’m a totally irresponsible author, but I’ve once again failed to reply to all your wonderful reviews before posting this chapter. Feel free to throw your stones, dear readers. I plan to respond to you tomorrow, but I had several people request to post this ASAP, so here you are!

_Katniss_

 

            Peeta opens the door and it screeches on its hinges, shattering the silence of the season’s first snowfall. He guides me inside without a word and closes the door behind us. Though we are inside, the hallway doesn’t offer any more warmth than the cold winter night.

            “This way,” he says, leading me up a narrow set of rickety stairs.

            Buildings like this are not hard to come by in the Seam. Though the apartment I lived in with my mother and Prim was bare, many families could never afford anything better than the decrepit structure we are in now. Still, I wonder who on earth Peeta would know living in a building like this.

            We pass the doors to several apartments before Peeta stops in front of one and knocks sharply three times. A rustling can be heard inside before the door opens slightly, illuminating the hallway with a sliver of candlelight.

            “Mr. Mellark!” Carl’s surprised face comes into view once he throws the door open. “Miss Katniss.”

            “Carl,” Peeta greets with a nod. “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion. Katniss and I needed shelter and you were the closest refuge I know of.”

            “Of course!” Carl steps aside, motioning for us to enter.

            I swear the boy must have grown another several inches since I last saw him. Really, he looks like a young man now rather than a boy. The sight of him leaves my chest aching longingly for Prim. I have no doubt that she must be blossoming as well, especially with the income I was able to send her while working at The Hob. A bitter sadness washes over me when I realize that that is all over now.

            “Your letter arrived only a half hour ago, Mr. Mellark,” Carl informs us as he sets about lighting another candle in the main room of the crumbling apartment.

            I frown and turn to Peeta who sheepishly returns my gaze. “I thought we might need a place to stay tonight. Something told me that the only solution would be to run. I sent word to Carl that we might be arriving on his doorstep this evening. Of course, I never thought I would be cutting it so close-”

            “Are they here, Carl?” a sweet feminine voice questions as a door that must lead to a bedroom opens.

            His silver eyes turn to the young woman in the doorway and he nods happily, “Yes. This is Miss Katniss and Mr. Mellark.”

            Carl smiles when he turns back to the two interlopers. “This is my eldest sister, Mary Elizabeth.”

            “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss,” Peeta says politely, “Thank you for opening your home to us with such short notice.”

             “You have done so much for our family, Mr. Mellark. It is the least we could do in return.” The pretty, young woman smiles thoughtfully, but when her eyes land on me, standing silently besides Peeta, a concerned frown pulls at her lips. “Miss Katniss, you must be dreadfully cold. Come with me,” she gestures for me to walk beside her, “I am sure we can find something that will fit you and keep you warm for the night.”

            I look to Peeta, but he merely nods, a simple gesture telling me to do as Mary Elizabeth says. I follow her into the bedroom and find that there are several sleeping forms piled on lumpy mattresses. Mary Elizabeth treads lightly between them and quickly searches through several trunks before returning to my side with a thick, flannel nightgown.

            “Turn around,” she whispers just loud enough for me to hear. “I will help you change. You are trembling something awful. You’ll be lucky if you don’t catch your death wandering about in the snow dressed in only your shift.”

            I do as she says without protest though I doubt my tremors have much to do with the cold. Images of Cinna’s broken body flash behind my eyelids every time I blink. The flannel of the nightgown is warm and soft. The elbows are worn threadbare, but is more than adequate for the night. Mary Elizabeth quickly folds my shift and Peeta’s overcoat before handing them to me with a shy smile.

            “Would you like me to comb your hair and braid it for you?” she questions sweetly. A stirring in the corner catches both of our attentions and moments later a child’s cry fills the room.

            “Thank you, but I will manage,” I reply, edging out of the room as Mary Elizabeth smiles at me with relief before crossing the room to the crying infant.

            “-not safe in the city anymore. We will be leaving tomorrow morning.” I catch the end of Peeta’s conversation with Carl as I re-enter the front room of the apartment.

            Carl’s cheeks darken in a rosy blush when he notices I have returned. He hurries over to the corner of the room where I notice several tattered blankets and quilts settled on the floor.

            “It isn’t much, I know, but my brothers and sisters were already asleep by the time I received your letter and there weren’t any mattresses to spare for the night.” Carl scuffs a foot at the ground in front of him. “I thought perhaps this might do if you pile several blankets on the floor beneath you.”

            Peeta places a hand gently on the younger man’s shoulder with a grateful smile. “It is more than enough, Carl. Without your assistance we would still be wandering the streets tonight.”

            Carl nods, a proud smile tugging at his lips. He bids us good night before disappearing into the back room and leaving Peeta and I to our own devices. Peeta gives my hand a gentle squeeze before making quick work of piling quilts and blankets on the floor, turning several back – presumably for us to sleep under. He pulls his shirt over his head, leaving just an undershirt to cover the firm muscles of his torso. He leaves his pants on, much to my relief. I would certainly turn a brighter red than ever before if he were to sleep in only his underthings.

            When he turns back to me, he stretches out a hand, his blue eyes watching me carefully as he lies down on our makeshift palette and guides me to settle in beside him. I tug my bottom lip between my teeth, afraid to close my eyes because I know what awaits me when I do.

            “Is this okay?” Peeta questions, and when I look up I realize he thinks my behavior is in response to our sleeping arrangements. It’s nearly laughable considering what we have done in the past. Not a month ago I behaved more intimately with him than I have ever imagined being with anyone.

            I nestle myself closer to him, embracing the warmth of his body as I do. I did not realize just how chilled I got while we raced along the streets. “Yes,” I murmur against his undershirt.

            Sleep claims me quickly, but it gives me no reprise from the nightmares of reality. Visions of Cinna’s broken body flood my mind punctuated only by the cold face of Coriolanus Snow. His eyes search for me in my dreams and somehow I know he will find me every time.

            I start awake when Peeta calls my name. In the watery, grey light, I can barely make out his gaze rife with concern as he looks down at me. Sometime during my tossing and turning throughout the night, our legs managed to tangle with one another, but I do not attempt to move away from him. Instead I let my head fall to rest against his chest once more and pull a deep breath, trying to ignore the unsteady shake inside of me as I do.

            “You were crying,” Peeta mentions softly, his arms tightening snuggly around my waist as if he is fearful I might wander away from him. There is a long stretch of silence between us before he adds, “I am so sorry this has happened, Katniss.”

            I shift slightly so I can look into those comforting blue eyes again. “You didn’t have any night terrors,” I observe, my voice still soft with sleep. He gives a sad smile and shakes his head slowly.

            “You are my greatest concern,” he admits, his thumb brushing along my waist. “As long as I know you are safe, Katniss, I will be okay.”

            His words are quiet but they carry an unexpected intensity with them. A warm feeling spills over inside of me, coursing along with my blood to the very edges of my being. I know Peeta means what he says. With him, I will be safe. I do not pretend to know how he will accomplish it, but I trust him.

            The sky outside is still grey, but it is lightening and I know that morning has arrived despite the tired ache that seems to have seeped permanently into my bones.

            “What will we do now?” I question, not actually expecting any answer. Peeta has already astounded me with his ability to find us shelter for the night. From here I expect we will be making things up as we go.

            I am surprised when he gently sits me up before climbing to his feet and reaching for two parcels on the nearby table. He eyes me nervously as he hands me one of the boxes, keeping the other for himself and settling back on the ground before me.

            I frown, uncertain how a box is going to solve this mess we have found ourselves in, but I open it anyway, revealing a fine forest green coat lined in soft brown fur. I turn my gaze back to Peeta, speechless as I let my fingers delve into the luxuriously soft textures.

            “This one as well.” He hands me the second box, clearing his throat anxiously. Inside is thick woolen fabric, a traveling suit. I have never owned such a frivolous item in my life. Why spend money on such an article when an everyday skirt and blouse will suffice?

            “Peeta-“ I begin, but he cuts in before I can finish the thought.

            “You need to blend in,” he reasons. “If you think Snow won’t have eyes out looking for you, you are gravely mistaken, Katniss. He is a dangerous man.”

            “But if he does not find me today, surely he will tomorrow, or the day after,” I say quietly, letting my fingers run over the glossy black buttons of the traveling suit.

            Peeta squirms beside me and I look up, meeting his gaze as I wait for him to tell me what is bothering him. His knuckles whiten as his hands clench at his knees before he whispers, “I want to take you away from here. Take you out of the city.”

            I open my mouth to protest, but he fixes me with a look that erases any words I might have planned to say. He reaches out, finding one of my hands still running along the fine fabric folded inside of the box in my lap.

            “Please, Katniss,” he begs earnestly, his gaze melting me, weakening what little reservation I have about running from this place. “Let me protect you.”

            I look down at where our fingers are intertwined. “How?” I choke out. “What about Prim?”

            “Prim is safe,” he assures me, his voice so much steadier than I feel. “I sent Carl early this morning to retrieve her. She will be working as a maid in the Cartwright home.

            My eyes snap up to meet his, a deep crease forming on my brow. I don’t understand how he has managed to put all of his plans into action so quickly. “Does Delly know?”

            “Of course,” Peeta nods, a whisper of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Delly is one of our greatest allies at the moment, Katniss. It would be foolish of me to try and hide everything from her. Your sister will be safe there. She will be hidden. Snow will never look for her there. As far as he knows, she should still be living in the Seam.”

            “And my mother?” Something twists deep inside of me as I ask the question, and I’m not sure whether it’s worry for the woman who brought me into this world or disgust with myself that she was not one of my initial concerns.

            Peeta looks somberly at me, his hand tightening around mine for just a moment. “She refused to leave the Seam. She says that her work is too vital.”

            Part of me wishes I could say that his words devastate me, but I don’t feel much of anything. There is a familiar numbness where any sorrow for my mother should have been.

            “Will you come with me, then?” Peeta questions a moment later. “Will you allow me to help you?”

            I realize that there was never any question of this. Alone, I am at the end of the street with nowhere else to go. I don’t pretend to know what Peeta has planned, but I figure whatever it might be, it must be better than playing a sitting duck for Snow and his men.

            I nod silently, earning a grim smile from Peeta as he takes the boxes from me, helping me to my feet. His hands find my hair, his fingers working their way through the tangles that last night brought before they settle at the base of my skull nudging me forward until his lips claim mine.

            His attentions pull a shiver from deep inside me and a desperate need swells inside me, one that I cannot put a name to. I want to wrap myself around him, let him hold me tightly to his chest as he so often does. Everything has changed so quickly; the bottom has collapsed out of my life and without Peeta’s arms around me I feel as though I am floating through chaos unfettered.

            A shy cough pulls us apart and we both turn to find Carl, red-cheeked and fidgeting, as he stands near the door to the bedroom of the apartment. “Your train will leave in an hour and a half, sir,” he squeaks, his voice cracking as though he is falling apart from the embarrassment of having caught us in such a compromising position. “Does Miss Katniss need Mary Elizabeth to help her dress?”

            We all stare at one another, frozen for a fraction of a second before I finally nod. “I would very much appreciate her assistance, Carl.”

            He smiles a bit before motioning me into the bedroom where Mary Elizabeth awaits to help me dress in the new traveling suit Peeta purchased. I am filled with a sense that today is going to be one of the longest days in my short life.

           

 

_Peeta_

 

            “Do not fidget,” Peeta murmurs when he notices Katniss tugging at the hem of her coat. “You look beautiful.”

            And she does, undoubtedly so. He hasn’t missed the side-glances that several businessmen have given her as they walk through the train station. It is warmer in here than outside, but her cheeks still hold a rosy flush that Peeta is sure mirrors his own. Mary Elizabeth helped her plait her hair and pin it up into a fashionable design that he doesn’t know the name of and the deep green of the traveling suit he charged Carl with buying early this morning leaves her looking like a true upper-class lady. If only she would stop squirming under everyone’s gazes.

            Her silver eyes look up from her hands, the color molten with fear. They shift about the room, searching for anyone who might be working for Snow. Of course, they both know that Snow’s men can blend into a scene, if they so choose. Their only hope is to become part of the scene as well, to be nondescript, unnoticeable.

            Of course, that would be much easier if Katniss looked more comfortable.

            “How are you so calm?” she demands quietly. “You saw what Snow is capable of.”

            “It’s not about being calm, Katniss,” he says, reaching for her hand and looping it through the crook of his elbow. “Appearances can be deceiving. You just need to play the part until we are in our train car.”

            They have no bags, only the small satchel that holds what will be their lunch once the train has departed Chicago. Katniss has been oddly silent about this entire ordeal. Peeta had expected she would have an unending line of questions for him, but she hasn’t so much as asked where they are going.

             They weave through the platforms until they reach a sleek black engine and Peeta hands an attendant their tickets. The man smiles amiably at the two of them, but Katniss shifts against Peeta, looking down at the dusty toes of her worn boots. He hadn’t thought to have Carl get her new shoes this morning, but he cannot imagine many men are looking at her feet as she walks by.

            “Right this way, sir,” the attendant says, guiding them up into the train car, offering Katniss a hand as she mounts the iron steps. The aisle between plump red-leather seats is narrow and the air is stuffy but they don’t have far to walk before the attendant points them to their seats. They are near the back of the car and a small table covered in a crisp white cloth sits in front of the seats.

            Katniss shuffles into the seat by the window, immediately returning to her previous lookout for any suspicious faces. Peeta stows the small satchel of food under his seat for the time being and reaches for her hand.

            She glances distractedly towards him and he pulls her hand to his lips in a quick kiss, one that he hopes is comforting. Her lips curve into a weak smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and she turns back to staring out the window. His stomach clenches with fear, but not fear that they will be caught. She is pulling away from him, withdrawing into herself, and that scares Peeta more than any gun could. Prim told him enough about their mother for him to know that this sort of reaction can be dangerous.

            He is about to lean over the armrest and try to bring her back to him when another couple settles in across from them. They are clearly newlyweds, all smiles and hushed giggles. A pang of jealousy rips through Peeta, but he simply offers them a polite nod and introduces himself and Katniss under the guise that they too are newly married.

            The train jolts to life after an eternity seems to have passed and the noise of the engine makes it harder to be heard across the table. Peeta is thankful for it since he will no longer be considered rude if he focuses on the small, dark-haired woman beside him.

            He squints against the bright light beaming off of the snow as they slowly pull out of the station, the wheels squealing against the rails as the engine puffs billowing black smoke trying to gain speed.  From his angle, Peeta almost misses the dampness in Katniss’s eyes. His fingers tighten around her hand and she squeezes back, but doesn’t turn away from the window. He can tell she just wants to be left to herself for a few moments, but that doesn’t stop him from noticing every hitched breath she takes, every sniffle, every quick brush of her hand along her cheeks.

            The train’s first stop is just on the edge of the city. The newlywed couple departs from the car leaving Peeta and Katniss alone at their table. Katniss has been quiet for the last half hour and he decides that perhaps the lure of lunch would bring her back to him. It isn’t much, but he knows Carl did his best with what little food was available in the apartment.

            Peeta puts the biscuit with a thick slice of ham between its fluffy ends in front of her, but it’s as though she’s lost to this world. Her eyes are transfixed on the changing landscape outside the window. He takes a moment to watch as well, the sight familiar to him from all the years he has spent between his family’s mansion in the city and his father’s cottage.

            Her hand moves from his and she presses it against the cool glass, a thin line of fog forming around where her skin makes contact as the freezing air outside rushes by.

            “What are you thinking?” Peeta questions, his voice so soft it is barely audible over the train’s engine.

            Her silver eyes are misty when she glances back at him. “Have you ever seen something so beautiful?” she asks, her tone conveying her awe as she turns back.

            His chest tightens when Peeta realizes why she is so fixated on the world outside the small window. The snowfall was lighter here since it isn’t so near the lake, but it still covers the underlying brown grass. The trees that line wide-open fields are bare for the winter and only a stray bird or rabbit is seen as they cut through the land.

            It is nothing so remarkable to Peeta who much prefers the countryside in the summer when the fields are filled and every plant is alive. To Katniss, however, this place must seem like heaven. She has never left the city. To see such an expanse of land in it’s natural state – to be away from crumbling brick and coal dust and squalor – Peeta thinks it might take his breath away if he was in her place.

            “You still have not asked me where I am taking you,” he replies, leaning over so he can watch the scenery roll by as well, his chin nearly resting on her shoulder.

            Her head turns slightly, the smooth skin of her cheek just a hairsbreadth away from his lips. Peeta wants desperately to wrap his arms around her in this moment, to settle her back against his chest, but there are others around, and though they are out of the city now, he still doesn’t wish to draw attention.

            “I trust you,” she murmurs, the words drawing a shiver up his spine. The way she says them, it’s almost as though she is admitting to something more, but Peeta tries not to infer anything more. Earning her trust is already enough of an accomplishment after everything they have been through.

            “I am taking you to my father’s cottage,” he says, letting one hand slide forward to brush along her waist for just a moment before he pulls back.

            She turns with wide eyes full of questions but Peeta presses a chaste kiss to her lips before she can voice any of them. When he pulls away again, her lips are curled in the slightest hint of a smile, one that nearly reaches her eyes. The sight tugs at something deep inside of him.

            “You should eat.” He nods toward the meager meal before her. “We still have a long way to go before we will arrive in the village and even then it will still be longer before we get to the cottage.”

            Her eyes flit to the food in front of her as though noticing it for the first time. Katniss has never been one to turn down food. She takes it gratefully before turning to stare out the window once more while she chews slowly. And with that, Peeta knows that she is on her way back to him, that she will not be lost inside her mind by the time they reach the cottage.

            “I have never been so far from home,” she whispers somberly once she swallows a bite.

            “It does not have to be forever,” he soothes, knowing without asking that she is thinking of Prim. “You can return once it is safe again. Snow will not chase after you forever.”

            “Why is he, though?” Katniss questions, her words heated, burning with an anger that has settled deep within her. “Why is he after me? Surely other women must refuse to work for him.”

            It is a question that Peeta has been thinking over as well. It just doesn’t seem to add up that Snow would expend so much time, money, and energy when he could just search out another, more willing woman. Of course, Peeta thinks that the girl beside him is the most beautiful, with the most perfect voice any man could imagine, but surely there must be others who could come close in the eyes of a man who is not in love.

            “I don’t know,” he admits. They fall into silence as they each finish their lunch. Peeta tries, but can find no reason for Snow’s persistence. It is a mystery that will remain for another day, he supposes.

            Katniss drifts into a restless slumber sometime later and he can’t help but stare at her. She looks younger when she is asleep. All the worries that she has, the fear, the anger, is washed away leaving only the girl Peeta can remember first noticing in school. Of course, he loves Katniss the way she is now. Everything that life has put her through has only made her more interesting, more beautiful, in his view, but there is something special about seeing her like this, when she is at her most vulnerable.

            Peeta leans his head back against the seat, still turned to watch her, but his eyes quickly grow heavy as the train rocks him gently. What little sleep he got last night, was restless as he woke up from every dream worried that Katniss would have disappeared from his arms while he was asleep.

            Eventually he gives into the pull, but only after he entwines his hand with Katniss’s, just incase someone should try and take her from him during his slumber.

 

…

 

_Katniss_

 

            “This must be what heaven would look like,” I say as the wagon turns up a long gravel drive. The afternoon sun melted most of the snow from the roads, leaving a thin layer over the rolling hills of the countryside that looks like icing.

            Snow in the city always turns sooty too quickly and I’ve never seen anything like this. Miles of untouched, pure white.

            Peeta chuckles, his breathe coming out in frozen puffs when I turn to look at him. Everything that happened in the city seems like a nightmare now, just a bad dream. As though reality floated away with each mile the train cut through the countryside and now I find myself in some perfect wonderland. It is difficult to believe that this is the same world.

            “You should see it in the spring,” he replies fondly and I watch as his mind drifts off to another time. “It is always prettiest in the springtime. Everything comes to life.”

            “It could not possibly be any more beautiful than this,” I argue because it is beyond my wildest imagination that what he says could be true. “Why does your family choose to live in the city when they have this?”

            “My mother,” Peeta frowns at her mention, “is not fond of the country. She finds the people simple and the society lacking. She much prefers to be close to her social circle. Father would adore living here, which is why he spends most of the harvesting season here even though we boys are all older now and don’t spend the summers here. He leaves for the fall months and returns home once the fields have been cleared.”

            “I would never want to leave if this was my home,” I muse, imagining how Prim would love the space. She could even raise animals out here, something I know she would adore.

            “It could be,” Peeta’s breathless words reach my ears and pull my attention back to his face where his blue eyes have grown darker with intensity. “I will never turn you out, Katniss. If you choose to spend the rest of your days here, it would make me the happiest man alive.”

            I am frozen, but not from the cold air surrounding us as the wagon makes its way up the winding driveway. The way he watches me now, the reverberation of his words that seem to have struck straight to my core – it’s as though he means something more.

            I open my mouth to reply, but any thought is lost as we crest a slight hill and the most perfect country cottage I could ever have imagined slides into view. I gasp and Peeta chuckles at my stunned reaction.

            As the wagon pulls nearer, I can make out the large tan stones that make up the building’s walls. I wonder how long it must have taken to gather all these rocks and piece them together to form walls, but I know that the effort was well worth it. It looks like something straight out of the fairytales Prim loves reading so much.

            Dormant gardens skirt the cottage and I can imagine lush roses and lilies spilling from their beds during the summer months. Bare trees stretch up towards the sky, dotted by the occasional pine whose sweet smell I can almost taste from where I sit next to Peeta.

            Fine, wooden fencing decorates the land in back of the cottage and I catch sight of several sheep, a goat, even a horse or two, all seemingly enjoying the afternoon warmth after yesterday’s snowfall.

            I turn to Peeta speechlessly with eyes as wide as saucers. He leans forward with a warm smile, pressing his lips to my cheek before standing and helping me out of the wagon. He pays the driver generously and the older man makes him promise to stop in town again soon.

            “He owns the mercantile,” Peeta explains as he wraps a strong, warm arm around my waist. “His family has been part of this town almost longer than mine has. Are you ready to see where you will be living?”

            I nod mutely, allowing him to guide me up to the heavy wood door. Peeta doesn’t knock before turning its handle and guiding us into the warmth that smells of a wood burning stove nearby. The house is silent, but holds a lived-in feeling.

            “It is not much, but,” he ruffles a hand through his curls as he smiles down at me, “I almost consider this my home more than the mansion in the city. I feel as though I grew up here even though I only spent a few months a year here as a child.”

            My lips curl up at the thought of a little, pudgy, golden-locked Peeta running around the cozy cottage, his father chasing after him as he squeals gleefully. It is a beautiful thought, and though Peeta doesn’t think this place is much, I find it to be a small slice of perfection set aside from the world I was raised in.

            “I suppose you will want to freshen up, perhaps take a rest before we have dinner,” he suggests, his blue eyes watching me carefully as I take in the grand foyer and its beautiful paintings that line the walls.

            His words remind me how untidy the train ride left me feeling and I nod, “That would be nice.”

            “Your room will be upstairs,” he says, taking my hand in his with a quick kiss before climbing the wooden staircase. “My father decorated most of this cottage, so you will notice that it is rather simple.”

            He presses an oak door open and reveals what I assume will be my room. A shocked puff of air leaves my lungs, earning an interested look from him when I follow him inside of the room.

            “Simple,” I repeat, the word choked with a dry laugh.

            Surely he must be joking; I take in my surroundings with disbelief. A bed, larger than any I have seen in my entire life, sits against the wall in front of me made up in a bright, cheery yellow. An elegant wardrobe in cherry colored wood is set across from it. There are voluptuous cream drapes over the window and a vanity in cherry wood to match the wardrobe.

            A smaller door is to my left and when I move to peer inside, my eyes settle on a claw foot bathtub complete with hot and cold running water spigots. This must be a dream.

            “Well,” Peeta laughs as he takes in the look on my face, “simple for my mother’s tastes.”

            I give a hesitant smile, truly a fish out of water in this place.

            “Cora is the housekeeper here,” he says, shuffling his weight nervously between his feet. “I can fetch her to help you undress.”

            Peeta turns to go and I am struck by sudden desperation to keep him near. He has not left my side since he pulled me from my room in The Hob and I realize all at once that he is the only thing keeping me together. My body quakes at the thought of him slipping through the doorway, leaving me alone, even for a moment, allowing my thoughts to consume me.

            “Please,” the choked word presses past my lips and Peeta freezes, his shoulders visibly tight as he waits for me to continue. “I – I don’t need your servant’s help. You h – have helped me undress before…” I trail off, my cheeks burning a deep crimson as he turns to face me again.

            “You want me to help you?” he questions hesitantly, as though the idea disturbs him in some way.

            I nod anyway. “I just don’t want to be left without you, Peeta. I think I am losing my mind. One moment I feel as though nothing has happened and the next I am afraid Snow will burst through the door and snatch me away – or – or worse.”

            He crosses the room with a worried frown, gathering me in his arms as he moves us to the bed and sits, pulling me down onto his lap. His fingers find their way to my hair, making quick work of the pins that Mary Elizabeth used to fix it in a twisted, fashionable manner. Each touch gently grazes my scalp, massaging it, somehow managing to bring comfort to my fraying nerves. When the length of my hair is released, he lets his fingers glide through the pieces of my braid, burying themselves deep in the thick, dark waves.

            I allow my eyes to flutter shut as he pulls me to his chest, nesting my head against the curve of his neck while his left hand continues to tangle itself through my hair.

            “You are not,” he whispers, his lips brushing against he crown of my head as he speaks. “You witnessed something horrible, Katniss, you aren’t going mad.”

            “I can’t stop thinking about it,” I admit, my voice pathetically weak as I burrow against his chest, trying to bury myself in his warmth and comfort. “How can you pretend everything is normal? Why aren’t you ready to fall apart?”

            His arms tighten around me and he dips his head until his lips find my cheek, kissing at the damp streaks there that I didn’t even realize existed. I am not certain when I began crying, but it is too late to try and hide it now.

            “I have you,” he explains. “I told you this morning – so long as you are safe, I will be okay.”

            “Why?” I sniffle unattractively, raising my head to meet that piercing blue gaze I have come to know so well.

            His body trembles and he frowns for just a moment before quickly covering it with a smile. “Because I can’t lose my favorite model to sketch.”

            It is clear he is dodging the real answer to my question but I am far too exhausted to ponder avoidance. I melt against him and we are quiet in one another’s embrace for what feels like a long time.

            “We should get you out of that traveling suit so you still have time to wash before dinner,” Peeta grumbles halfheartedly. “Cora will have dinner ready at seven.”

            In all honesty, I would rather just stay in his arms, soaking in any comfort he can give me. But he tugs on my hand, urging me to stand before him so he can rise from his seat on the bed. This traveling suit requires much less assistance than most of Cinna’s dresses did. I unbutton the fine, woolen overcoat, my fingers slipping on its glossy buttons, before shrugging it off and turning so Peeta can work at the long row of buttons that run down the back of my blouse.

            His fingers are impossibly warm, burning me even through the layers of fabric and corset while he works. I close my eyes, leaning back towards him and giving a soft whimper when his breath traces the curve of my neck as he leans closer to undo a particularly obstinate button.

            His calloused hands slip beneath the thin fabric once the line of buttons is released, and they cup my shoulders gently, his fingers kneading the taut muscles there, his touch soft and warm and familiar. I reach a hand up, taking one of his and pulling his palm to my lips. Peeta groans softly, letting his head loll forward until his lips graze my ear.

            Brushing my hair aside, he presses a sigh of a kiss against the tender flesh behind my ear, drawing a shocked breath from me with his heated tongue as he brushes it briefly where his lips once were. I slip the sleeves of my blouse over my arms and Peeta’s fingers deftly find the ties of my corset, working swiftly to release the binding ties until it falls loosely past my waist. He undoes my skirt and both float down into a pile around my feet.

            His lips glide along the curve of my neck, his teeth nipping at my collarbone. The sensation is lighter than a feather and yet it burns me so I might never forget it. His fingers dig urgently against my hips, pulling me back against him. I feel him – there – and heat coils deep in my belly, just as it did that evening weeks ago.

            “Make me forget,” I plead, my voice trembling as I capture his hands with mine and drag them along my stomach, bringing them to rest on the delicate skin of my breasts. Peeta moans, the sound reverberating against my back where his chest is pressed firmly against me. “Please, Peeta.”

            His fingers knead at the soft tissue beneath them in response.  I give an unhappy sound when he pulls his hands away, but he only does so long enough to tug at the thin ribbon tie and pull the well-worn fabric of my shift over my shoulders, allowing it to slither down my body and pool at my feet along with the rest of my clothing.

            His hands find the taut, dusky buds of my breasts, brushing his thumbs against them as his lips suckle softly at my neck. At once I am drowning in him but it is not enough. I need more of him. He rolls an erect nipple between his thumb and forefinger. I gasp, breathing in his scent – cinnamon and yeast and dust from our travels.

            “Peeta.” I don’t know why I say his name, but it is the only word my mind is capable of forming right now.

            “Katniss,” he breathes, his voice heavy, breathless, rough. “Lie down.”

            I turn to look into blue eyes that are nearly black as his pupils have dilated so much. He pulls me tighter to his chest, his hands still cupped perfectly over my breasts as his lips meet mine in a kiss that steals the breath from them.

            Gently, he guides me to turn around and backs me towards the bed. When I feel the soft fabric of the golden, downy quilt that covers the mattress against the back of my thighs, I realize quite quickly that I am naked while Peeta remains fully clothed.

            A blush starts along my chest and creeps up to my cheeks as I gently pry my fingers under his overcoat and help him shrug it off. Peeta loosens the buttons of his shirt wordlessly, but then his hands are on my hips again.

            “Lie,” he whispers, leaning in to nip my ear between his teeth playfully.

            I do as he asks, my hands fumbling to cover myself, to provide some modesty though I fear it is much too late for that. Before I have time to reach for my shift where it still lays discarded on the floor, Peeta leans over me, his body providing the cover that I was seeking.

            His blue eyes bore into my own, full of an emotion that leaves me breathless and nearly frightened by its intensity. “You are beautiful, Katniss,” he murmurs, his voice choked with passion as he tugs my hands aside, revealing all of me as his eyes roam over my form.

            Peeta lets his lips trail over my chest, suckling at each breast as he goes, pulling desperate, needy cries from my lips, sending spears of pleasure to my center. Wetness builds between my legs as it did that evening weeks ago. His hand finds the cleft between my thighs once more, dipping between the folds and gathering the moisture he finds there.

            My hand grasps at Peeta’s wrist and he stills instantly, his eyes hazy with need as they search my own.

            “I am afraid.” The words tumble from my lips gracelessly and I cannot meet his gaze after.

            “Do you want me to stop?” His voice is heavy, but his gaze shows me his earnestness. “I am only trying to comfort you, Katniss. If this – if anything is too much, we can - ”

            “No!” I reach up, clutching desperately at his shoulders. “No, I like this. Do not stop.”

            “Then what are you afraid of?” His eyes glint with the barest hint of amusement, which twists at my stomach.

            “You will not want me after,” I mutter. Simply speaking the words breaks my heart into painful shards that tear at my chest.

            Peeta frowns, laying himself down alongside my naked body, leaning on his elbow so he can look down at me with a perplexed crease marring his pale brow. He lets a hand trace the curve of my hip where the bone protrudes before dipping down towards the thatch of dark curls disappearing between my thighs.

            “That is unthinkable,” he whispers gently, bowing his head to place a soft trail of kisses over my stomach. “There is nothing that could stop me from wanting you, Katniss.”

            He punctuates his words with kisses that trail lower as he slides further down the bed. His eyes never leave mine, watching me for any hesitation, any second thoughts as I let him descend between my thighs.

            “Do you promise?” I ask, my voice like that of a child’s, one who has been taught by experience never to trust.

            Peeta turns his head and presses an open-mouthed kiss to my inner thigh. “May I drop dead here and now if I am lying to you.” He presses another kiss to the opposite thigh.

            This one causes me to shiver as the nerves under his lips tingle and desire shoots through my body. A fine layer of scruff covers his chin since he was unable to shave this morning prior to leaving Chicago, and it brushes tantalizingly against the smooth skin of my thigh while he continues to place kisses closer to that heated place where I realize, quite suddenly, I want him most.

            My hand grasps at the thick curls at the back of his head, my fingers tangling in the golden locks I have come to adore so much. His eyes flutter closed for a moment before his gaze flickers back to mine filled with a passion I cannot fully fathom.

            He pauses just for a moment, resting his pale cheek against my much darker, olive-skinned thigh. In this moment, he waits, allowing me to stop him from continuing, but the heat between my thighs is growing, and I only want him more.

            My cheeks blush when I imagine what it will feel like, the pressure of his lips, the heat of his tongue, the slight chafe of his cheek against my thighs. He grins before turning to press another light kiss against my leg, seemingly able to guess what I am thinking of without questioning.

            He doesn’t wait for any further assurance, his mouth dipping to meet the wet heat between my thighs. My back arches against the bed beneath us as Peeta’s lips pull pleasure from the marrow of my bones, releasing it into the blood that courses through every recess of my body.

            My fingers scratch against his scalp, tugging at his gold-spun curls, so soft against my thighs I think I might die of happiness. Peeta releases a groan when I give a particularly hard tug on his beautiful hair. The sound is deep and resounds through his chest, pulling a soft moan from my own lips.

            His tongue slips through my folds, searching for something unknown to me until – I cry out, my hips pressing firmly against his mouth. That. That is what he was searching for and I never want him to stop. His arms wrap around my thighs, on hand reaching up to knead my breast again while he sucks and licks and nips at that place, summoning shouts of pleasure from deep inside of me. The world shrinks until it is only Peeta and I, just the pleasure that he brings me.

            My nerves light on fire, burning under his touch. My muscles wind tighter with each flick of his tongue, his breath panting and hot against me.

            “Do not stop,” I whimper, the words breathless and demanding.  “Peeta, please.”

            He grunts, releasing one thigh so his fingers can move to dip between my thighs, exploring that untouched place inside of me. It is a strange sensation at first, but then the soft pads of his fingers brush against me in such a way that I feel as I did that first night, on a precipice, desperate to jump. He pumps his fingers while he sucks on that most sensitive bundle of nerves one last time and—

            I am falling. I am shattered. I quake beneath him as he continues his work, allowing me to ride wave after endless wave of euphoria. My fingers card through his hair, run along his taught, pale-skinned shoulders, his moans of pleasure unmistakable as they meld with mine in the over-warm air of the room.

            I float back to earth, settle against the bed. I am boneless. I am his.

            He grins up at me, his lips still glistening with my wetness, but I am too far-gone to find embarrassment in this as I normally would. Pressing one last kiss, he lifts himself from the bed and settles in beside me, his lips finding mine as his tongue searches mine out. I taste myself on his tongue - musky, tangy, but not at all out of place. Somehow this seems right.

            He pulls away to catch his breath, his strong arms encircling my waist and pulling me tightly to him. I nestle in against him, exhausted and blissfully content.

            “Did you like that?” he questions, his voice slightly hoarse as though he’s worried of the answer I might give.

            I nod, burrowing my face against his neck.

            I can hear his smile when he speaks next. “Good. I hoped you might.”

            “Where did you learn that?” I question, pulling away just enough that I can get a clear view of his face and I watch red stain his cheeks when our eyes meet.

            “Axel – I mean – my brothers,” he gives a grunt in frustration, squirming beneath my curious gaze, “I have heard things. Axel would always talk about his exploits and he mentioned that girls like it when boys do that.” He nods down my torso. “I just wanted to make you feel good – to help you forget.”

            I let my hand fall to rest on his chest right where his heart beats below the layers of skin and muscle and bone. “You did, Peeta.”

            His eyes meet mine once more, the purest color blue I have ever seen.

            “Thank you,” I whisper, pressing a kiss to his collarbone because I don’t have any energy left to move to kiss his lips. My eyelids are so heavy, but I keep them open just long enough to see his glorious, heart-stopping smile.

            “You’re so very welcome, Katniss,” he whispers against my hair, holding me close even as I drift off. He says something else - something I don’t hear because my ears and mind are already clouded with sleep, but I know it must be something perfect and sweet as he lulls me to sleep.

 

 

_Peeta_

 

            She breathes deeply, slowly, restfully, and Peeta swears he could lie with her in his arms for the rest of his life and never tire of it. Nestled in against his chest as she is, he can feel the light flutter of her heart. He presses his lips to the crown of her head and she sighs in her sleep.

            He loves her.

            He has loved her for a very long time now, but he is afraid what she might do if he told her. Katniss hasn’t known much love in her life after her father died. Her mother, well, Peeta does not fully comprehend what happened to her mother, but he gathers that the older woman all but abandoned both Everdeen girls after their father’s death. And that has led her here, to a life full of murder and danger. He is filled with bitterness towards the older woman for what she has caused, but he knows Katniss wouldn’t take any of it back if she had the chance, not with Prim fed and safe as she is now.

            Hearing a quiet rustling downstairs, Peeta slowly climbs from the bed, tucking a cream, knitted blanket around Katniss’s shoulders that was hanging from the back of a chair nearby. As he walks out the door, he tugs on his shirt that he had left discarded on the floor near the bed. The front door closes just as his feet hit the last stair in the foyer and Cora turns to him with a curious eye.

            The pale, cream envelope in her hand catches his attention immediately and he easily recognizes the loopy scrawl of his name on the front.

            “Good day, Cora.” He nods, a smile tugging easily at his lips. She doesn’t smile back as she hands him the letter and swiftly leaves for the kitchens again. A sinking feeling eats at the pit of his stomach as he watches her hips sway away from him, the skirts of her work dress swishing as she turns the corner and out of sight.

            The letter is from Delly, one he was expecting. He had sent word to Delly that he would be fleeing the city with Katniss and that Prim would need placement within the Cartwright household. He did not explain much, but then Delly would never expect him to in such a situation. Their friendship is one that does not demands many words. He knew she would send word once she heard anything. She writes of little Prim and that she has settled easily into her household over the course of just a single day. It seems Prim can charm people no matter where she goes, even under stairs. Peeta expected as much, of course, the part of the letter he is most interested in has nothing to do with Prim and everything to do with the tea Delly and her mother attended just this afternoon at the Mellark Mansion.

            “ _Merriam Thread was in attendance_ ,” she writes in that prim, perfectly practiced scrawl that he knows almost as well as his own. “ _There was little mention of The Hob, save for the fact that she knew her husband had raided a brothel overnight. Your Katniss was never spoken of, though Snow’s name did present itself several times of the course of the afternoon._

_“His power grows with each passing day, Peeta. His men have become more daring, beating the poor, grinding them into the dirty streets beneath their tread. Not all of them even have ties to the mob. Many are those who bring no threat to him. Your mother seems to think he is cleaning the city, purifying it, paving the way for only those of the highest breeding to hold their heads high.”_

            Peeta cringes at the implications of what his dearest friend writes. He has heard of this, a movement that believes there are people born to be superior. His mother has made a heated comment of two in the past referencing the belief that some people were born into society to be a burden to the rest – the rest of course being people like the Mellarks, those wealthy beyond belief who have never struggled a day in their lives to feed their families, those whose pedigrees can speak for themselves.

            “ _I do not believe that this is Snow’s purpose, however. I have recently spoken with Miss Margaret Undersee. She works in a kitchen near the edge of the Seam that feeds those who would otherwise starve in the streets. She said that the mood there is changing. People are afraid, Peeta. Snow has them gathered in his fist and there is nothing to stop him from crushing them all. Eugenics just doesn’t seem like something a mob leader would have any interest in._

_“How can one man gain so much power so quickly? The papers continue to report disappearances and everyone knows The Capitol has never had better business than it has now. Has he entrapped the entire city? Is there no one left to stop him so he has nothing left to fear?”_

            The letter continues on a bit as Delly ponders more questions that Peeta has no answers to either. He can’t help but wonder why. Why has Snow started crushing the lower class? What purpose will it serve? These are questions that will remain unanswered for the time being.

            He folds the letter up and slips it into the pocket of his trousers, treading quietly towards the kitchen. Cora does not look up as he approaches though he knows she is aware of his presence. Peeta has spent too many years running about this cottage to think he can sneak up on the older woman.

            “Cora –“ he begins, but she shoulders past him to check on a rack of lamb roasting in the oven. Peeta frowns, watching as she shuffles about the kitchen, adamantly avoiding his gaze.

            “Cora, what is the matter?” he reaches to still her hands before she can mince any of the shallots she was tending to.

            She pulls away from his touch as though burned, her eyes aflame with anger and the subtle coolness of disappointment. Immediately, his shoulders sag in shame though he does not know what he has done to earn such feelings.

            “You,” she wags the knife she holds in his direction. Peeta’s eyes widen and he backs away, slightly horrified by the scene unfolding before him. “I’d expect this kind of behavior from your brothers, from Axel, but you, Peeta Mellark, are better than this!”

            He glances over his shoulders, just in case there is another Peeta Mellark in the room she might be talking to, but he is alone with an armed, mad woman it would appear, one that has cared for him since he was in diapers.

            “I haven’t the faintest idea what you are talking about,” he says in his calmest voice. It has no effect on her though save for the way her eyes widen in anger.

            “Don’t you play me like that, child,” the knife is swinging in his face again and he is suddenly queasy as he takes another step back. “You sent word saying that you would be coming here, but you didn’t say anything of a dark-haired, wisp of a girl coming with you. Last I heard, you were courting that young Glimmer Hamilton. And pardon me for saying so, but that young woman you brought here does not look like the Miss Hamilton I heard your mother describe when she was here for the harvest party she threw.”

            Peeta knows his jaw is hanging somewhere near the floor, but he can’t gather his wits about him enough to maintain a look of neutrality. Her words, accusations really, were the last thing he was expecting to hear.

            “And then, you’re up in that bedroom with her. Alone! Doing Lord only knows what! I have ears that work just fine, boy, and what you did – I thought you were a more honorable man than that,” she spits the last words, slamming the knife down with a loud crack as she begins mincing through the shallots at an alarming rate.

            Peeta is glad her attention is finally turned away from him because his ears are on fire and he thinks he might just melt a hole right through the kitchen floor. It is one thing for Cora to wash his sheets after having a dream and making a mess of them as he did not all that long ago, but it is quite another for her to hear everything he just did with Katniss, for her to assume he is deep in scandal. Peeta has always respected Cora, thought of her as more of a mother than the woman who actually brought him into this world. The shame that overwhelms him now is nearly enough to end him.

            “Cora, I –“ Peeta’s fingers tangle in his already tousled curls. “It is not at all what it seems.”

            She arches a disbelieving brow.

            “Her name is Katniss. I was never courting Miss Hamilton,” Peeta rushes to explain. “Mother wanted me to marry and was desperate to secure the Hamilton fortune, but it was never my wish.”

            “And what is your wish then, child?” Cora demands exasperatedly.

            “Katniss,” her name escapes him like a sigh. “I wish only to have her and to keep her safe.”

            She eyes him warily for several long, silent moments, but something in her face relaxes and Peeta knows he has won for now. She gives the shallots one last run-through before setting the knife down and wiping her hands on her apron.

            “She must be half starved from all that traveling,” the older woman says with a gentle smile, cupping Peeta’s cheeks fondly in her hands. He almost wouldn’t believe she had been swinging a knife in his face only minutes before if he hadn’t been there to experience it. “Go fetch her and I will get dinner on the table, you fool.”

            He grins toothily, but does as she says without a second thought. If he never again sees Cora as cross with him as she was just now, it would suit him just fine. He hurries up the stairs, taking two at a time, though whether to reach Katniss quickly or to return downstairs and stuff himself full of Cora’s wonderful cooking, he can’t quite determine.

            His chest tightens at the sight of Katniss, hugging a pillow beneath her as she lays on her stomach, a peaceful expression smoothing out her brow that is so often furrowed in a scowl. The blanket he covered her with before leaving has slipped down, baring her slender, delicately sculpted shoulders. Peeta hates to wake her, but he knows she would hate to miss the first meal Cora prepared for them.

            “Katniss,” he whispers as he crosses the room to her, lowering his lips to press a light row of kisses along her back between each shoulder. God, she’s so beautiful it hurts, although that could be the tightness of his pants talking. “Wake up, Katniss. Cora has almost finished dinner and I promise you don’t want to miss her cooking.”

            She gives a sleepy hum when he traces his lips along the curve of her neck, delighting in the way her skin pebbles under his touch. She reaches a hand back, letting her fingers catch in his curls as she turns her head to face him with a contented smile that Peeta can’t help but return.

            “You can sleep again as soon as you eat something,” he promises. Katniss turns and wraps her arms around his neck, her naked chest pressed against his rumpled shirt.

            It takes everything inside of him not to join her in bed and never leave again, but Cora is waiting and he knows she won’t take kindly to an encore of what already occurred this afternoon. He presses a gentle kiss to her lips and his blue gaze meets her grey eyes still hazy with sleep.

            “Come on,” he whispers, but the words lack the enthusiasm that usually revolves around Cora’s cooking. “Cora has been waiting to meet you.”

            She sighs nervously but slides out of bed and slips into her shift. Peeta watches in fascination as she gathers her other garments from the ground before she gives him a sweet, shy smile.

            “I need help dressing.” Her voice is still heavy with sleep and it pulls at a place right behind his navel as he steps forward to help her.

            “You will have to talk me through this.” He chuckles. “It’s not as though I have laced a corset often.”

            The blush his words elicit makes its way to her neck and shoulders. He smiles, leaning in to kiss it away. He’s a goner. Axel would give him a good jab about it, but Peeta couldn’t care less, because right now, in this moment, his Katniss is safe. She is safe and that is the only thing he can bring himself to truly care about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! Please feel free to let me know what you thought of the chapter! As always, you can follow me on tumblr at therebelliondies dot tumblr dot com.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last, here is the next chapter of ADAD. Thank you all for your patience with me as I struggled through my writing drought and everything else life has thrown at me recently. I appreciate each and every word of encouragement that you have given me. I hope you find this chapter worth the wait. Enjoy!

_Katniss_

 

I wake to the sound of sparrows chirping happily outside my window. Watery, winter sunlight filters through the fine, lacy curtains and I am so blissfully cozy I do not ever intend to leave this bed. As though my mind has been read, the door across the room opens without a sound and Peeta’s heavy tread fills the room as he carries in a tray full of steaming, delicious smelling food.

My mouth begins to water as I take in the sight of eggs, perfectly fried, and served alongside potatoes tossed in herbs and grainy, dark slices of toast. Thick slices of ham rest beside flakey, golden biscuits and a fresh glass of milk towers over a delicate cup of dark coffee.  If I hadn’t seen the feast Cora prepared us for dinner last night, I would believe that the food before me is all just a dream. My stomach growls impatiently. Years of poverty have taught my body to seize any available food it can find without hesitation.

“Good morning,” Peeta whispers when he sees I’m awake, reclaiming the spot in my bed where he slept last night, his arms wrapped protectively around me to ward off any nightmares. He motions to the food now resting near his feet. “I thought you might enjoy a lazy morning in bed.”

I scoot around under the covers, sitting up so that I will be able to eat, but hesitant to leave the toasty warmth beneath the soft fabric. “Won’t Cora be upset? She’ll know that you’re up here with me.”

“Let me deal with Cora’s worries about reputation,” he shakes his head slightly, a shadow of a smile pulling at his lips.

I didn’t miss the wary gaze of Peeta’s housekeeper last night when we first arrived downstairs for dinner. He swears that the older woman is only looking out for my best interest, worried that Peeta is taking advantage of me. But I have been looked at like that too many times in my lifetime to believe that’s all of it. I am a Seam girl. Peeta is an heir to a fortune that I cannot even fully fathom. It would only be logical for people to be suspicious, for them to assume that I am using him for my own gain.

“I do not think she likes me very much,” I mutter, nestling myself closer to the warmth his body is radiating.

“She does,” he assures me, expertly spreading a generous amount of strawberry jam across the hearty bread before lifting it to my lips. I take a bite and close my eyes in pleasure as the sweet preserves melt across my taste buds followed by the earthy, warm toast. “She wouldn’t cook so lavishly if she did not.”

I open my eyes once I swallow and smile up at Peeta. He watches me, a whisper of sadness apparent in his gaze as I reach for a fork and spear a mouthful of fried egg, a bit of the runny yellow dripping on my lip. A thick finger brushes against the tender skin and Peeta sighs. I dig greedily into the potatoes before looking up at him again, “Is something wrong?”

I suddenly realize that my mouth is stuffed full of delicious food and Peeta has yet to take a bite for himself. I set my fork down. Maybe I have disgusted him. It isn’t often that Peeta has seen me eat anything. Compared to the proper ladies he usually spends his time with, I probably look like a savage, gobbling up food as fast as my hands will let me.

His smile is bittersweet when he reaches for one of the biscuits, slicing it in half and nesting a slice of ham between each end. He lifts the delicacy to my lips and I can’t stop myself from taking a bite. The smell is too intoxicating to resist.

“Nothing is wrong,” he whispers, offering a halfhearted smile in my direction. “I just wish I would have brought you here sooner.” He hands me the glass of milk. It’s sweet and refreshingly cool on my tongue. “Instead of watching you and your family starve.”

“Peeta,” I whisper, trying to ignore the tightness that takes hold in my chest. He shouldn’t feel this way. “It isn’t as though you never tried to help. You kept me alive.”

“It was not enough,” he replies bitterly. “Look at everything you have suffered through-“

“Don’t.” I press a finger to his lips. “Do not think like that. None of that is your fault. It was never your fault. You should not think for a second that it was.”

“If I had known what my mother did – if I had found you employment elsewhere –“ His voice cracks and he rifles a hand through his curls. “It is not fair.”

It isn’t fair, but it is not as though either of us really had a choice in the matter.

I reach for a slice of toast and press a bite to his lips as he did for me only a few minutes earlier. I am not sure how else to comfort him besides offering him food. “You should eat.”

Reluctantly, he takes the bread between his teeth, chewing it slowly, his eyes never leaving my face. A thrill runs up my spine as I reach for the biscuit he prepared earlier and take another bite. I am certain this moment, wrapped up in soft covers with Peeta and glorious food, is a little piece of heaven.

It strikes me suddenly that he won’t be able to stay here with me forever. He has brought me to the cottage in secret and his family would start to question him if he stayed for very long. His mother would never allow it if she knew he was playing house with a Seam girl – and one that worked in a brothel at that.

“How long will you be able to stay?” I whisper, picking at the edge of the yellow quilt covering us.

He lets out a slow breath as though he’s been trying to avoid thinking about this as well. It is a fact we must face together, though. There isn’t much point in pretending we will be able to stay in this sanctuary together for very long.

“I left word with my father that I would be staying for a few days to gather my thoughts,” he says, his voice low and even. “My mother will assume this means I am deciding how to propose to Miss Hamilton, I am sure. I catch the last train tomorrow.”

“What am I to do without you here?” I question. The thought of staying in this cottage without him is nowhere near as appealing. The days will stretch on unbearably.

“Whatever you please, Katniss,” he says sweetly, his hand reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “You will be cared for here. You don’t need to worry anymore. Do what makes you happy.”

He doesn’t understand how confusing his words are for me. I have become so accustom to fighting to survive that I have forgotten what it is like to enjoy idle time. I would rather be useful. I was never one to sit and do needlepoint all day and gossip over tea.

When I look up, he is watching me cautiously, his blue eyes bright. I don’t know what to say to him, how to explain that I never want him to leave, that I do not know what I will do without him here. I cannot explain that this new safety is almost as terrifying to me as being under Snow’s thumb in the city. Instead I nestle myself against his solid chest, resting my head in the crook of his shoulder. His fingers comb through my hair, pressing gentle circles against my scalp.

“It will be alright, Katniss. You’ll see,” he murmurs, the words vibrating in his chest. “This will all be over before you know it and you will be with Prim again and you will both be safe and happy together.”

“How can you be so certain?” I ask, relaxing against him, his words and his touch like a soothing tonic.

“The bad can’t last forever,” he answers firmly. I want to tell him that this isn’t true, that there has been so much bad in the Seam for longer than anyone can remember, but I don’t have the heart to argue with him. I want to believe his words, so I allow them.

“So,” he begins cheerfully, attempting to steer my mind away from the dour thoughts it has wandered to. “What shall we do today?”

His eyes shine happily as he gazes down at me. I shrug, the task of amusing myself for an entire day too daunting to comprehend in the warmth of this soft bed and Peeta’s embrace.

He smiles, brushing a thumb along my jaw. “I have an idea. You will need to dress warmly though.” He slips from under the covers, leaning in to press a quick kiss to my lips before hurrying towards the door. “I will send Cora to help.”

I open my mouth to protest, still certain that Cora harbors some ill will against me, but Peeta gives me one last cheeky smile before disappearing through the doorway.

Cora appears a few minutes later, giving me a tight-lipped smile before closing the door behind her. “Mr. Peeta said you would be needing assistance with dressing,” she drawls quietly, her voice smooth and even and infinitely polite.

“Only a bit,” I squeak, blushing furiously as my gaze meets hers.

Surely she must have heard my moans of pleasure when Peeta and I first arrived yesterday. The walls are thin here and it would have been impossible for anyone to miss, even if they were downstairs.

“What will you be wearing today, Miss Katniss?” she questions, stepping up to the sparse wardrobe open in front of me. “Well,” she huffs once she observes the single traveling suit and coat hanging before us. “I suppose it won’t be a difficult choice.”

The older woman’s fingers are swift as they tighten the laces of my corset around me, pulling them snuggly with a flourish of her wrists. I gasp after she gives another tug. I have never been one to wear my corsets unbearably tight. It would be impossible to work under such circumstances.

“That should be tight enough, Cora,” I say. “I will still need to breathe today.”

“My apologies,” the laces loosen some before she ties them off. “Most ladies prefer to wear their corsets tighter these days. I hear it’s the fashion in Paris.”

“Thank the heavens we are not in Paris, then,” I reply, a smile pulling at the corner of my lips as I glance at the woman standing behind me in the mirror. I catch a glimpse of her lips curved in a quiet smile of their own before she turns and retrieves the blouse I will be wearing for the day.

Her fingers make quick work of all the hooks and buttons of my clothing. I am fully dressed only a handful of minutes later and she guides me downstairs where Peeta is waiting near the front door.

“You look lovely.” He gives me a genuine smile as he holds out my coat, sliding the heavy fabric over my shoulders, allowing his hands to rest against me for a moment longer than necessary.

“Thank you,” I murmur with a blush.

The morning is chilly as we exit the house and Peeta gathers up two sets of shoes with thin, metal blades on them. He grins at me as he settles the laces over his shoulder and reaches for my hand, tugging me off the beaten path and through the snow.

“What are those shoes for?” I question, doing my best to lengthen my stride in spite of the snow so that I might keep up with him.

He seems to notice my struggle and slows down considerably as he chuckles. “They aren’t shoes. You’ll see soon enough,” he explains.

Already his cheeks are rosy with the cold and I wish I might press my lips to the pink skin. His fingers stay laced between mine as we round a patch of trees and come upon a lake, frozen so smoothly it looks like glass.

“Have you ever gone ice-skating before, Katniss?” he questions, his blue eyes alight with excitement.

“Never.” I frown, looking down at my worn, leather shoes. “It’s not as though Lake Michigan freezes over often enough or smoothly enough to skate upon.”

He gives a somber nod before guiding me over to a bench near the edge of the lake. It takes him only minutes to lace up his own skates and then he is kneeling before me, tightening the laces of my own skates with ease.

My ankles wobble precariously when I stand, like Prim did as a toddler taking her first steps. I am certain it will only be a few moments before I land face first in the snow, but Peeta’s hand reaches out for my elbow. I glance up, my breath coming out in a frozen puff of steam when he smiles at me. His eyes are alight with laughter and somehow the overcast, grey sky seems to make them bluer.

“Are you ready?” he questions, a blonde eyebrow arching as he takes a small step back towards the frozen pond. How he can walk so naturally on two thin blades of metal I shall never understand. One would think his broad, sturdy form would make ice-skating nearly impossible. I take another hesitant step, nearly losing my balance and falling backwards.

“This might be a terrible idea,” I mutter, a frown pulling at my lips until I hear his gentle chuckle.

“I won’t let you fall, Katniss,” he promises, his grip tightening slightly on my elbow as I sway to the side.

He takes another step, tugging me along with him until suddenly we are gliding over the smooth surface of the pond. I grasp frantically at his wrist, my eyes widening as an uncharacteristic squeal escapes my lips.

“Peeta!” The word echoes slightly in the frozen silence of the winter afternoon.

He maneuvers his skates, skidding quickly to a stop in front of me. I screech as my body collides with his, unable to stop on the slippery surface below me. Peeta never loses his balance though as his arms encircle my waist, a hearty laughter ringing out as he does.

“For as elegant as you are on two feet, one would never know it when you are on ice,” he jokes. The tip of his nose is red from the chill of the breeze that blows over the pond’s surface. It is an endearing look for him, not that I have really found one that is not.

“It is not fair to kid,” I protest, lightly punching at his shoulder though this only causes his arms around me to tighten their hold. “You have probably been skating this pond for years and I have never so much as seen an ice skate in my life.”

His smile falters for a split moment before he is beaming once more. He lowers his head until his lips brush against my ear. “Then you may add it to the list of things I look forward to teaching you,” he murmurs, his warm breath causing a delicious shiver through my spine.

Something about the way he speaks tells me his list is not just made up of outdoor activities he’d like to instruct me in. I am suddenly quite glad for the cold because I am certain that my cheeks would be red by now if they had not been already.

Peeta’s lips brush against my heated skin, soft as a feather’s touch, before he tugs my hands forward once more. “Just let one foot glide outward at a time,” he instructs, pulling me along as he effortlessly begins skating backwards.

My knees shake as my skates veer away from one another. It’s not ladylike at all, but he laughs anyway, grasping my elbow to help me straighten up and bring my feet together again.

“Just like that, but this time make sure you pick your feet up otherwise you’ll be sitting on the ice.” I frown, my lips pouting as I concentrate on his directions. I get the distinct impression that he finds my struggle amusing and my irritation begins to grow.

“This is infuriating,” I blurt out as Peeta once again pulls me up into a standing position.

Peeta smiles gently, the look somehow melting my annoyance with him. He moves one hand from my elbow to wrap it around my waist, pulling me close to the warmth that he seems to eternally radiate no matter how cold it is.

“It takes some practice,” he says, cupping his other hand at the nape of my neck. “We will have all the time in the world now, Katniss. There’s no need to rush it.”

I shiver when I look up at him, his blue eyes boring into mine. His words promise so much more than skating lessons. They promise himself, a life away from the city and all its dangers.

“Come on,” he encourages, his fingers tugging lightly at mine as he pushes off backwards. “Give it another go.”

This time my ankles wobble before finding their balance on the thin metal blades. The air is silent save for the soft hiss of metal cutting a path across the ice until I release a sharp squeal as Peeta’s hands drop mine.

“Peeta!” I shout, but he’s already skating away at a quicker pace, chuckling easily as I slide to a slow stop, my hands swinging in tight circles to keep from falling back on my bottom.

“Pick your feet up!” he calls across the ice as he continues to move in a fluid arc. “If you catch me, maybe I will give you a kiss.” He flashes me a cheeky grin, purposely slowing his pace until I hesitantly lift a foot and push off, the blade grinding slightly but pushing me forward much to my surprise.

An excited burst of laughter pushes past my lips as I repeat the motion with the opposite foot and continue gliding. I am so focused on my feet that I don’t notice how quiet the pond has become until a pair of strong, steady arms wrap themselves around my waist.

My feet slip out from under me, but Peeta holds me up with ease as he nuzzles past the neck of my coat, his chilled lips brushing gently along the much warmer curve of my neck. I bite at my lower lip, trying to repress the delicious shiver his touch elicits.

“I thought I was supposed to catch you, Mr. Mellark,” I remind him as my hands move to rest over his and I lean into the warmth of his chest.

“I grew impatient with waiting,” he replies, his voice muffled by layers of fabric as his lips suck gently on the skin where my neck joins with my shoulder. “I decided to take matters into my own hands.” His fingers clutch lightly at the thick green layer of my overcoat, tugging ever so slightly as though he wishes it were not there to separate us.

I manage to shuffle my skates enough that I turn in his arms, his hands keeping me balanced where they continue to rest on my waist. I reach up, letting my fingers delve into the soft curls of his hair before I smile up at him. “What prize is there for you catching me then? I would have been rewarded with a kiss, but what do you wish for?”

His eyes darken and he is silent for a long moment, his arms tugging me closer to him. I fit myself against the curve of his body easily, as though we are two pieces of a puzzle fashioned for one another.

“I thought that answer might be quite obvious,” he says, his voice containing a gruffness that causes my belly to tingle pleasantly. “I want all of you forever.” The corner of his mouth quirks up in a hint of a smile and I can’t stop the breathless laugh that his words steal from me.

“A simple request,” I reply once I catch my breath again, leaning up on the tips of my skates to press a tender kiss to his lips. “I might be able to allow it.”

He smiles brightly, taking one of my hands in his and guiding me around the pond for a long while. The sun is already beginning its decent in the sky by the time we settle onto the bench beside the pond and remove our skates. A gloved thumb brushes along my cheekbone and I look up to find Peeta staring raptly at me.

“What?” I question, brushing quickly at both cheeks, wondering if I have somehow managed to get something on my face.

He smiles. “Your cheeks are flushed such a beautiful shade of pink. I was just trying to lock it in my memory for a future painting.”

“A painting?” I repeat, arching an eyebrow in disbelief.

He takes my hand, pulling me up from the bench with another smile as we begin the walk back to the cottage. “Of course,” he replies, allowing our hands to swing easily between us. “You are my favorite subject, Katniss – my muse.”

I snort, a small cloud of steam rising from my nostrils. His sugary words are hard to digest and I am sure that if I spend much more time around Peeta Mellark I am likely to get rotten teeth. He releases my hand only to wrap an arm wordlessly around my waist, causing us to bump hips as we walk.

The journey back to the cottage seems shorter this time and the warmth inside instantly begins to melt away the chill that seeped into my skin despite the fine coat that Peeta bought for me. He helps ease the thick, green material from my shoulders and removes his own coat before guiding me back towards the kitchen.

“Cora will have left for town,” he explains when we enter the silent room. The smells of our breakfast still cling heavily to the air and my stomach grumbles hungrily although I ate my fill this morning. “Today is her shopping day and she will want to have the cottage well stocked since she will be cooking for a guest.”

“She needn’t to go to such trouble.” I blush. It’s absurd for Peeta and his servant to treat me as though I am someone of importance when I would be perfectly content making meals of the cold cuts in the icebox.

“She would refuse to listen to me even if I agreed with you,” he states, opening the icebox and removing a bowl covered with cheesecloth along with several other covered ingredients. “Cora believes everyone in the house should be well fed. I wouldn’t be taken aback if she brings you several special surprises when she returns. She always wished that there would be a daughter that she could dote upon in the Mellark family, much as my mother still does.”

There is no bitterness in his tone when he speaks the last part, but the sorrow in his gaze is enough that I step around the counter and lace my fingers with his.

“Of course,” he puts on a shaky smile, “Cora forgave me when I was born the third boy. I might even go so far as to say that I am her favorite of us Mellark brothers.”

I pull his hand to my lips and press a kiss there that I hope convinces him that _I_ am glad he was born even if no one else in the world is - that he is _my_ favorite. My stomach twists with anger towards this gentle boy’s mother. How could she have done this to him? How could she raise him and allow him to believe that he is a mistake, a disappointment? This boy who loves with every fiber of his being, who has an innate goodness about him, who can care for and protect a Seam girl – one that scowls and snaps and is hardly a lady. This boy deserves so much more than everything he has.

I lean up on my toes, pressing my lips to his cheek, still cool from the lingering chill of being outside. His fingers tighten around mine and he glances down at me wordlessly, our gazes meeting in a pregnant silence.

“I – Peeta,” I stutter bringing our intertwined hands to my chest, hoping he might not notice my fluttering heartbeat beneath them. “I am glad for you.” My free hand cups the firm line of his jaw. There’s a day’s growth of dark blond hair present on the pale skin and it scratches softly against my palm. “I couldn’t…” I search for the words, the ones that mean what I am feeling inside at this moment. “I couldn’t… survive without you.”

His eyes soften and I see them beginning to fill with tears. I press a kiss to his knuckles and pray that I haven’t upset him. Any other girl would profess her love, but I can’t say those words. I have heard them whispered too often through the thin walls of The Hob by girls hoping that a rich patron will leave his family like he promises. I have seen those same girls crushed mornings later when there isn’t a man in a fine bowler hat waiting on their doorstep to whisk them away.

What Peeta gives me isn’t that; it is so much more. He gives me hope. He helps me survive time and time again when I should long ago have met my end.

Why is he being so quiet? Have I disappointed him? I should apologize, but I can’t. My chest is too tight and I think I might cry. Why doesn’t he say something?

His hand disentangles itself from mine and I know I’ve made a mistake. I close my eyes tightly, willing the tears that burn against the back of my eyelids to disappear.

“Peeta, I’m sorry.” The words are hoarse, strangled in my tightening throat.

Still he doesn’t speak. His arms encircle my hips, pulling me to his chest. Is this his goodbye to me – a gentle hug before he leads me to the nearest door and leaves me to my own devices?

A hand cups the back of my head, cradling me beneath his chin. I breathe him in, all fresh air and musk with a hint of cinnamon. His fingers make lazy patterns against the bodice of my dress and I melt in his embrace, soaking in everything it has to offer.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat, the words hardly even a whisper through my throat choked with tears.

“My Katniss,” he breathes against the crown of my head followed by a fervent kiss. “My dear, you have no idea the effect you have over me.” I lift my head and see his blue eyes are still glassy with unshed tears as he smiles down at me. He brushes several stray hairs back from my face before adding, “I could never survive without you either.”

He says it so assuredly that I could almost believe his words to be true, but the truth is that Peeta _could_ go on surviving without me. I have done nothing for him aside from offer a few kisses and break his heart. He is the one who has fed me when I was near death, who told me of work, who pulled me from my room before Thread could deliver me into Snow’s hands.

His eyes pierce through me and I look away, unable to hold his gaze anymore. He is too kind, gives me more credit than I am due. He deserves a pretty girl with good manners who has never heard of a place like The Hob and does not have one of the most notorious mob men after her. Peeta deserves a happy, simple life with blonde-haired, blue-eyed children to run around with. I will never be able to provide him that life.

I fiddle with the corner of the cheesecloth covering the bowl he pulled from the icebox.

“Katniss –“

“What is this?” I cut him off. I pretend not to notice the disappointment as he clears his throat. It’s better if we change the topic of conversation sooner rather than later. He removes the cloth and reveals a lump of cold dough.

“I thought we could make cinnamon rolls for tomorrow’s breakfast.” He shrugs sheepishly. “It’s a bit of a tradition. My dad would always make them for our final breakfast before leaving the cottage. The flour I used was from the fall’s harvest. You’ve never tasted anything like them.”

“I’m quite sure I haven’t,” I agree, poking the dough with a hesitant finger. His hand comes to cover mine with a chuckle.

“It is just dough, Katniss, not a monster,” he assures me. His nimble hand guides mine to knead the dough in a rhythmic motion. The soft, smooth mound yields easily and there is something pleasant about the feeling, almost soothing.

I don’t notice that his hands have moved until he bends forward slightly, reaching around me and spreading a handful of flour on the surface in front of us. “We should roll the dough out,” he murmurs, his lips close to my ear as he reaches on either side of me, lifting the soft lump from its bowl and procuring a rolling pin as if by magic. His back is pressed to mine as he slides our palms over the wooden instrument, flattening the dough expertly in minutes.

I can’t help but smile over my shoulder when he slides the last bowl towards us and hands me a well-used brush. The mixture inside the bowl is golden, a mix of butter and spices that cause my mouth to water while I paint them over our dough canvas.

I step aside once I’ve finished so that Peeta can roll the dough, sealing the cinnamon and butter and other wonderful spices in a swirl. He moves easily, as though he barely needs to spare a thought while he works, his eyes intent on the job before him. There’s something beautiful in the way his hands move when he cuts slices from the roll and settles them onto a baking sheet. I can’t recall a time I’ve seen him look some comfortable or at ease.

“You love this,” I observe quietly, unable to contain the smile that watching him brings to my face.

He glances up, his eyes slightly glazed as though he was lost in a world all his own while he was working. “Hmm?” His throat bobs a bit as he hums and turns back to finish cutting the roll.

“You look content,” I say, watching as his hands swiftly begin placing the slices on a baking sheet.

He glances up through his thick, golden lashes with another, shy smile before finishing the task at hand and rounding the corner to slide the sheet into the large oven.

“I am content,” he murmurs, crossing the room and enveloping me in his embrace. “With you here, how could I be anything but?”

I close my eyes, asking myself the same question as I nestle closer to his chest. There’s no trace of dishonesty in his face, but it seems an impossible truth.

“Could you be happy forever?” I ask softly, “If you were never to return home? Would you resent me if you left all your wealth behind for a simple life?”

He chuckles quietly, his breath coming in warm puffs against my forehead. “I could never be happy without you. No matter what kind of life it means, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

He bends forward, suckling gently at the swell of my bottom lip. The tip of his tongue swipes hotly across the sensitive skin and I whimper, grasping at the front of his shirt and hoping this won’t end soon. A heat that has nothing to do with the ovens in the room spreads over the surface of my skin and my heart patters erratically at my ribs as thought they are a cage and it is begging for release.

Peeta guides me backwards until my back hits the solid wood of the countertop. He gives a soft, masculine grunt, his fingers digging into my hips as he presses himself against me. The movement isn’t polite and gentle like he has always been in the past. Instead there is a fervent want in the pressure of his hips against mine, a hunger evident in the growl that echoes in the back of his throat.

I bow against his form and notice, not for the first time, the bulge pressing back from within his trousers. Though I have never seen him unclothed, I know enough of the male form to understand what it is and I blush when I admit to myself that I want to touch him. Slowly, I release a hand from where I hold it bunched in his shirtfront.

Peeta doesn’t notice, too preoccupied as he ducks his head to the side and begins trailing his lips across my cheeks and along my jaw. My breath hitches when he reaches the small patch of skin below my earlobe, causing my eyes to flutter shut in pleasure.

“Peeta.” His name is a whisper as it falls from my lips and my hand grazes the front of his trousers, palming the bulge within.

He releases a garbled cry and stumbles backwards a few steps, his blue eyes wide with shock. A hot flush races to my cheeks and I can hear my pulse as it rushes through my ears. Perhaps I should never have tried to touch him. Perhaps that isn’t normal. Johanna had spoke of how the men liked it, but maybe a true gentleman like Peeta would be mortified by such behavior.

“I- “ I can’t find words in the flood of humiliation that overcomes me. I begin to back out of the kitchen, sidestepping along the counter until I might make a dash for it and preserve whatever shred of dignity I have left.

But then his hand reaches out for mine, pulling me back towards him as he slants his mouth over mind, hot and needy as his tongue brushes along my palette. I moan, my knees going weak under his ministrations.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he breathes when he pulls away, his lips still close enough that they brush mine with each word. “I was surprised is all. You’ve never mentioned wanting to do that.”

I duck my gaze to the soft, blonde hairs that peak out from under the collar of his shirt where he has unfastened several buttons. “You touched me,” I reason. “Why wouldn’t I wish to do the same? I care for you as well.”

He doesn’t speak, his blue eyes wide with wonder as he lets his fingers run along my neck. His touch is soft and warm and I never want to let him go.

“May I?” I ask shyly, ignoring the rush of blood that rises to my cheeks again. “Will you show me what feels good, Peeta?”

He nods once, slowly, as though unsure of whether he should answer or not, but he takes one of my hands in his own and guides it to the front of his trousers again. He inhales sharply when my palm makes contact with him, but he doesn’t cry out this time and he doesn’t back away. Instead he slides my palm against the bulge, releasing a shaky breath.

I look up at him as I repeat the movement again and find that his eyes have turned the color of cobalt against the black swells of his pupils. His hips press against my touch seemingly of their own accord and a moment later Peeta’s hand leaves mine to unfasten the front of his trousers. His fingers tremble against the buttons but soon enough the front of his pants are open and his underthings are visible beneath.  My fingers slip under the heavy fabric of his trousers, grazing the soft, cotton.

“Is this okay?” I question hesitantly. He nods again, a stiff, subtle movement. He reaches beneath the waist of his briefs, lowering them slightly until he is bared before me.

It’s a penis. I know enough of the male anatomy to know what it is called. I have even seen one or two when Mother brought me with her on her medical visits. But never have I seen one like this. The word penis doesn’t seem appropriate for this. That word is for the old, sickly men, not for the strong and vibrant Peeta Mellark. A word comes to mind that I remember being shouted through the paper-thin walls of The Hob.

Clove was never known for being quiet, and the same could be said of her once she retired for the night with men. It was a night in late summer when I had the window of my bedroom open as wide as it would go in hopes of catching any whisper of a summer breeze. The moans started out quietly enough, but soon they were loud enough that it felt as though I was in the room with them.

“Oh, please!” she keened in a way that make my cheeks flush, “Your cock feels so good.”

I was confused. Why would she be talking about someone’s chicken during such an act? It wasn’t until the next morning that Johanna explained through her laughter that the word actually has two meanings. And I never understood until this moment why someone would choose to call _that_ part of the male anatomy by _that_ name.

“Is this okay?” Peeta questions after the silence between us goes on for too long and I realize I’ve been staring at him.

“Y-yes,” I stutter, reaching out my hand and waiting for him to show me what to do.

“You don’t have to do this, Katniss,” he assures me. “I never expected anything like this.”

It’s laughable that I would ever think Peeta Mellark expects me to do anything like this. He has always been the perfect gentleman, even when I allowed him to explore my own body. I smile shyly as I reach my hand forward, closing it around the surprisingly soft, almost velvety skin of his cock. It’s surprisingly hard and so very warm.

Peeta whimpers softly, reaching a hand out to grasp the counter behind me for balance. I let my fingers slide gently along the exposed flesh, reveling in the way his breath hitches in his chest, the way his arm trembles and he bites his bottom lip.

“Peeta?” I question, looking up at him to find that his gaze has darkened into something that makes my heart pound against my chest. “Peeta, show me what to do. What feels good?”

“Everything,” he groans when I run my thumb over the tip of him where there is a bead of liquid gathering. “Everything you do feels amazing, Katniss.”

I snort in disbelief and that gains his attention again. “I haven’t the faintest idea what I am doing. How can it possibly feel good?”

My thumb circles the head of his erection and he gives a low growl from deep within his chest. “It felt good when I touched you, didn’t it?” he questions as his hand moves to cover mine, guiding it to grip his length.

I nod silently as his fingers press against mine, showing me the right amount of pressure to use before he guides them to slide along the velvet skin. His eyes flutter shut and his head falls to my shoulder. His breath is warm against my neck as it shudders past his lips.

“It’s so soft,” I murmur, unsure of what exactly I should be saying. I never paid much attention to the quiet whispers that made their way through my walls at The Hob, save for that one night with Clove. Peeta grunts, his hips thrusting forward into my hand.

Something warm swells inside my chest when he lets out another quiet whimper against my skin. I realize I want him, all of him. I don’t want to share him with the rest of the world. I want him to be mine. I hate the idea that tomorrow he will leave and return to the city where his mother will try to pair him off with any number of willing girls.

“Promise me, Peeta,” I beg in a desperate whisper as his hips continue to thrust into my hand. I press my lips to the curve of his neck, sucking gently at the tender skin until he releases a breathy moan. “Promise me you won’t forget. Don’t let them make you forget about me.”

His thrusts become more erratic and his breathing becomes more labored. His lips suckle my neck, nipping and kissing between raspy moans. The sound curls deep inside my belly like a hot, burning coal, stoking a fire that I have no idea how to put out. 

His fingers delve into my hair, messing the simple hairstyle that Cora fixed it in this morning. It feels glorious though and I have little concern regarding my hair when his eyes are screwed up so tight and he’s whispering my name like a chant or a prayer.

“Oh, Katniss!” he whispers one final time, his eyes snapping wide open just as his cock swells in my palm and a spurt of white liquid lands on my wrist.

His breathing is ragged as his forehead falls to rest against mine. A frown mars his beautiful face and I begin to wonder what I have done wrong when he pulls out a handkerchief.

“Here,” he mutters, looking rather sheepish as he gently cleans away the sticky liquid from my hand. “I’m sorry. I should have warned you. I just became so caught up and – and I – well, I lost control of myself.”

“It’s okay,” I whisper back, twining my fingers with his. “Is that a good thing? Is that supposed to happen?”

He meets my gaze with his own wide eyes and gives me a rather silly smile. “Yes, Katniss, that is a very good thing.”

I smile, rather proud of myself for a brief moment before he leans forward, taking my face in his hands and kisses me as though he might never get to again. My hands grasp at his shirtfront again and my toes curl in their well-worn boots.

When we separate, we are both pink cheeked and breathless. Peeta laughs softly and brushes his nose against mine. “Katniss Everdeen, I promise that no one could ever make me forget you in a million years. I am yours for however long you might want me.”

A giggle bubbles up in my throat, a feeling so foreign that I slap a hand over my mouth to cover the strange sound. Peeta simply smiles down at me in his arms as though I am the most charming girl he’s ever met.

“One day,” he murmurs, his eyes filled with a warmth that spills over into my heart, “When this is all over, I will ask you to marry me, and I hope very much that you might say yes.”

A key in the back door ends the moment too soon and Peeta releases me quickly so that he can fasten his pants again. Cora bustles into the kitchen just as he finishes tucking his shirt in and he smiles brightly at the motherly woman.

“What are you two doing in here?” she questions suspiciously. “I thought you were taking the girl ice-skating?”

“I did,” he assures her, ruffling a hand through his curls and letting it settle on the back of his neck. I wonder if he realizes that he has this nervous tick. From the look in Cora’s eye I know she’s noticed it. “Katniss caught on rather quickly, but it’s a cold day outside and I thought we might make some cinnamon rolls.”

“It is,” Cora agrees, her dark-chocolate eyes observing me closely as she speaks. “Perhaps you two ought to each take a warm bath before dinner and I can prepare you some hot tea. It will still be a while before dinner is ready.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” Peeta agrees before heading towards the staircase in the front of the cottage.

“You’ll need some help undressing then, Miss Katniss?” Cora asks but she is already following in Peeta’s steps.

The silence once Cora shuts the door behind us is deafening and my body tenses in anticipation. The woman has something to say, that much is clear, and I have a feeling I won’t like hearing it.

She unfastens the long row of buttons on my blouse, also undoing my skirt and allowing it to slip with a quiet hiss over my hips. It’s not until she begins working on the ties of my corset that she speaks up.

“That boy is like a son to me, Miss Katniss,” she states evenly, and I can tell from her tone that she means what she says. “You seem like a kind, well-meaning girl, but I don’t understand what you two think will come of this.”

Her hands freeze, resting against my back as she looks at me in the mirror before us. She has a point. How often have I asked myself the very same question she poses now? Peeta has never been shy about his intentions; even today he told me he wishes to marry me one day. But does he really understand what that will mean, what he will have to give up?

“He cares for you. I can see that much in the way he looks at you,” Cora says, her hands beginning to work again though she never looks away from my face in the mirror. “But do you feel the same way?”

I stare, frozen and unable to defend myself. I do, or at least I think I do. I care very deeply for the boy who handed me a slightly stale loaf of bread in the rain not all that long ago. I owe him my life a dozen times over by now. He deserves whatever his heart desires, and from what he said earlier today, it desires me.

I open my mouth to speak but am cut off when Cora poses another question.

“Do you love him?”

My heart stutters in my chest at the word.

My mother loved my father and look where that got them. Plenty of girls at The Hob thought they loved the men in fancy suits and hats who would spend a night or two with them before tossing them to the gutter like used pieces of trash. Even Peeta’s parents, who have every luxury that they could hope for are stuck in a loveless marriage.

Love, or the pretense of love, is a dangerous game, one I am not sure that I am ready to play. Do I love Peeta Mellark? Perhaps I could if I let myself. Maybe it’s already too late.

“I don’t know,” I whisper, my voice unsteady, giving away my fear. My hands wring nervously against one another but the woman behind me nods solemnly as if she hears something I don’t.

Without another word, she hands me a soft, warm towel and leaves the room with a swish of her skirts. Though no final parting was exchanged, I feel as though I was just given a test and I’m unsure whether or not I have passed it.

 

…

 

The next morning comes far too quickly. Peeta slips into my room as the sun rises, all golden curls and shy smiles and sapphire eyes. It’s a sight I wouldn’t mind waking up to every morning.

“When do you leave?” I ask before he has a chance to wish me good morning.

He wears a somber smile as he sets the tray he carries on the bedside table and slips beneath the covers with me. He pulls the pale, yellow linen over our heads, creating a sanctuary within our sanctuary.

“This afternoon,” he whispers. “There is a two-thirty train.”

I shift closer to him, pressing my chest against his with a heavy sigh and allowing my legs to tangle between his. His strong arms slip around my waist and he buries his face in my sleep-matted hair.

“I wish you did not have to leave me,” I admit, wrapping my own arms around him and holding on tightly as though I might cease to exist without him. “Couldn’t you just write home and tell them you have decided to live out the rest of your days as one of those celibate men in the countryside?”

“Like a hermit, you mean?” he chuckles warmly. “I do not think anyone would believe that story, particularly my brothers.”

“You could try,” I reason with a pout. “Unless you are glad to be rid of me and return to the city full of pretty women with large bosoms and larger dowries.”

A flash of worry fills his eyes until he realizes that I am only joking. If there is one thing I am sure about, it is that Peeta Mellark has very little interest in money and he seems to quite enjoy my body, small breasts and all.

“I could try,” he agrees with a smile. “Perhaps I shall write: Dear Mother, I have chosen to join the priesthood and shall not be returning to the city. I know this might come as a shock to you seeing as we are not Catholic-“

I laugh loudly, burying my face against his chest as he continues on in a dramatic tone. He kisses the top of my head once he finishes, holding back laughter of his own. His eyes are crinkled at the edges when I look up at him and I stretch to kiss his cheek.

“In all honesty, the only letter I want to write would tell them of the girl that has stolen my heart, one with eyes the color of flint and hair softer than silk.” He presses a kiss against my neck, his lips curved into a soft smile as he continues. “I would write to tell them that I never intend to come home, that I wish to keep her away from the dirty, crumbling city. I want to keep her here in my arms where she is safe.”

He presses a kiss to my shoulder and our gazes meet again. As much as I wish he could write such a letter, we both know it is impossible. He must return to the city and I must remain in hiding until we can be sure that Snow will not come after me again. Peeta must go back if we ever hope to learn why the leader of the mob has taken such a keen interest in me.

“You will be safe here,” he assures me as though he is able to read my thoughts. “You can be sure of that.”

“I know,” I whisper. “I just don’t like the idea of being away from you. What if they come after you to get to me?”

“And how would they ever know I mean anything to you?” he questions with a hint of amusement in his voice. “Our relationship has always been discrete so that my mother would never hear of it.”

I shrug. “I don’t know, but what if they do?”

He sighs, pulling me closer to him and pressing his lips to my ear before whispering, “Then I will fight them with every fiber of my being. I will make sure they are thrown in jail for all eternity and I will return to you. We will live out the rest of our lives however we please – wherever we please.”

I smile, hoping that he can’t tell how uneasy the idea of him fighting anyone makes me. I wish he could stay here. I wish I could keep him safe as he is doing for Prim and I. The idea that something might happen to him is unthinkable. It puts my stomach in knots.

“Let’s not talk about all of that right now,” Peeta says, sitting up with a smile and throwing the covers back so he can reach for the tray he carried in with him earlier. “The cinnamon rolls will be cold if we wait much longer and, though they are delicious anytime, they are absolutely heavenly while they are still warm.

He unveils the sticky, golden rolls and I smile, reaching out to take the largest one at the same time my stomach gives a loud growl. Peeta chuckles, picking up one of his own and taking a massive bite. A bit of frosting ends up on the edge of his lip and I lean forward licking the sweet sugar from his skin. His cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink and I laugh, taking a large bite of my own roll and groaning as the flakey pastry melts on my tongue.

Very quickly, I am beginning to believe that every morning with Peeta is it’s own piece of heaven.

 

…

 

“I will be back before you even miss me,” Peeta breathes, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he wraps his arms around my waist.

“That will never be possible,” I mutter against his shoulder. “You are a liar, Peeta Mellark.”

“And why is that?” he questions, pulling away, his curious, blue eyes meeting with mine. My heartbeat stutters wildly under his gaze.

I throw my arms around his neck and press my lips desperately to his. He gives a surprised grunt, but returns in kind, his lips moving firmly against my own, his tongue dipping into my mouth, memorizing me one last time.

I pull away breathlessly, my palms smoothing along the sharp contour of his jaw. “It is a lie because I miss you already. I will miss you terribly the instant you step onto that train.”

He smiles gently, covering my hands with his own and giving them a soft squeeze. The look he gives me says so many things, things I am not ready to admit to myself, but it warms my belly and I wish that he did not have to return to the city. How I wish he were free to stay here with me, safe in our little cottage away from the rest of the world.

The whistle blows sharply in warning that the train is about to depart and he presses one last sweet kiss to my lips. “I will write to you, Katniss. We will figure everything out,” he promises. “I will return to you. If you trust nothing else, you may trust in that.”

“I know,” I say, though my tongue refuses to let me say what I really wish to. The words twist and jumble in my throat. I wish to tell him how I feel. I wish to tell him that he is mine and I am his, but I have never been eloquent and as the train attendant shuts the door between us, my words are left unuttered.

 

…

 

_Peeta_

A knock sounds at his door and Peeta glances up to find the familiar, thin form of Glenn. The older man gives him a tight-lipped smile before stepping inside and closing the door behind him.

“Father said you were back,” he states, settling down in an overstuffed, high-backed chair in the corner of the room. “Thought I would come and say hello myself.”

Peeta stares at his brother quizzically. Though they have always gotten along well enough, the eldest Mellark son has always been somewhat aloof. It would be unusual that he noticed Peeta was missing at all the last several days, let alone that he would make a personal visit just to say hello.

“Mother seems to be under the impression that you will be proposing to Miss Glimmer tonight when her family joins us for dinner,” Glenn adds, his cool, blue eyes pinned to Peeta so as not to miss any reaction the younger man might have.

Peeta snorts derisively before turning back to the article at hand, a piece on the increasing dissatisfaction among workers in the factories. It is buried back on page nine of the Chicago Times.

“Peet,” Glenn says, his voice softer as he leans forward in his seat, his eyes pleading with the younger man to hear him, “I just want you to understand that you do not have to do this if you don’t want to. Mother will be hell to deal with, I understand that, but she won’t have control over you forever.”

He frowns, surprised that his brother would tell him not to go along with their mother’s plans. All the Mellark boys know what happens when they disobey their mother’s wishes, and heaven forbid they embarrass the matriarch as well.

“What are you-”

“I just want you to be happy, Peeta,” Glenn says, cutting off the younger man’s question. “You are, and always have been, my sweet baby brother. You deserve to be happy. Forgive me for saying so, but I do not believe Miss Glimmer will bring you much happiness at all.”

“I am not proposing to Glimmer Hamilton,” Peeta states firmly, his fingers clenching at the thin newsprint he is holding.

Glenn nods, his shoulders relaxing some at Peeta’s confession. He arches a pale eyebrow at the younger man, “What were you doing out at the cottage the last few days then?”

“That is none of your business,” Peeta says, snapping the paper back up so he can continue reading. He hopes his older brother doesn’t notice the blush that creeps up the back of his neck and spills onto his cheeks when he can’t stop the memories of moments spent with Katniss from flooding his mind.

The older man’s eyes narrow suspiciously. “You’re sweet on someone,” he states factually, standing and walking closer.

“I never said that,” he retorts but Glenn is already smiling broadly at him.

“That is not a denial, little brother,” he points out with a chuckle. “Who is she? Is it one of Delly’s friends?”

“No,” Peeta shakes his head. “She’s nobody you would know. Now shut up.”

Glenn laughs but backs away. “Okay, Peet. I will leave the subject for now. But I will find out who she is. If there is one thing I’m good at, it’s solving a mystery.”

Peeta shakes his head, feigning disinterest. In truth, he knows every word his older brother says is true. Of all the Mellark boys, Glenn is the most persistent and the sharpest. If he puts his mind to figuring something out, he won’t stop until he does. It is this knowledge that leaves Peeta with a subtle uneasiness as he finishes reading the article in the newspaper. How can he honestly expect Katniss to remain a secret that only he knows?

 

…

 

Peeta glances up when the door to the small hotel and restaurant opens. Sure enough a familiar glint of bronze hair meets his eye as Mr. Odair steps in from the storm wailing outside. He brushes the snow from his coat as he looks about the room and gives a friendly nod when his eyes find Peeta.

“Sorry I’m late,” Finnick explains, reaching out to give Peeta’s hand a firm shake. “I was working out at the market today.”

“Sales are going well even in this weather, then?” Peeta questions as they settle into their seats at the table near the blazing fireplace.

“I am making a killing,” the fisherman agrees. “People love crab and salmon this time of year. Something about the holiday season must make people crave the fruits of the sea even if they aren’t as fresh when they’ve been shipped inland.”

Peeta laughs, waving the waiter over to their table. “Would you like anything to drink? Something to take the chill out of your bones?”

“A whiskey sounds wonderful,” Finnick agrees with a nod, waiting until the waiter departs before his gaze turns serious and he leans in. “I suppose you received the letter that I sent earlier this week?”

Peeta nods. These past weeks since he returned from the cottage he has done little other than immerse himself in research. He spends hours pouring over newspaper articles, searching for any clue that might help him understand Snow’s fixation with Katniss.

Upon his return home, a letter from Finnick was waiting for him. It was short, written in clear, solid script. It offered his help, stated that he had a vague understanding of what happened the night Katniss disappeared from The Hob. He wrote that he would keep an open ear and watchful eye out for any useful information and contact Peeta as soon as he had anything to tell him.

The second letter arrived earlier this week containing only a date, time, and location. That is their reason for meeting this evening and Peeta hopes Finnick has had more luck than he has when it comes to obtaining information.

“Katniss is safe?” the older man questions, a seed of worry evident in his gaze.

“She is,” Peeta agrees. “As is her sister.”

Finnick nods, shooting the younger man a grim smile. “I figured you made arrangements for them both. Haymitch is safe as well. Madame Trinket went to the county jail the very next morning with a sack full of cash.”

“And Cinna?” he asks, swallowing thickly against the bile that rises in his throat at memory of that horrible night. He still has nightmares though it was weeks ago, nightmares that have only gotten worse now that Katniss is not within arm’s reach.

“His body is with his family in Louisiana,” Finnick says, his face somber at the mention of the gentle, Creole man. He coughs, clearing his throat before continuing on in a hushed voice. “I suppose you have been conducting research of your own, trying to understand why all of this has happened.”

“I have,” Peeta agrees, taking a long draw of his tonic and suddenly wishing he ordered something much stronger. “There is little to be found in the news. I am in much the same place I was all those weeks ago. I know Snow has a personal vendetta to settle with Katniss but I haven’t the faintest idea why she has caught his eye. Surely there must have been other women who turned down his offer. Surely there are other singers who would have gladly sang in his show.”

Finnick nods slowly as he listens, adding a soft hum of approval here and there.

“The only thing I have even gleaned from the papers aside from who is marrying who amongst the upper class,” Peeta rolls his eyes in irritation before continuing, “is that there is a growing unrest amongst the working lower class.” 

Finnick holds up a finger and points it at the younger man’s chest, “That. That there is the key.”

He frowns, deep creases marring his brow. “What do you mean? What do the factory workers have to do with Katniss?”

“It’s not so much the workers as what has inspired them to stand up now,” Finnick reasons. “Why now, after all this time, have men decided that enough is enough? Things have hardly changed over the last decade. Things have always been awful for the working class; that is no different from before. People are talking – even the workers down on the docks.

“The Girl on Fire enchanted everyone who heard her sing, Peeta. People remembered her name once they left The Hob. People noticed her when she mingled amongst the crowd after shows. It started out as a whispered rumor that Katniss turned down Snow’s offer to sing for him. But when he continued to send his men to proposition her, the story became real and it spread like wildfire.

“Don’t you see, Peeta? She’s our very own David and Goliath. This poor, skinny, little Seam girl stood up to a monster with a hold over the entire city. If she can refuse Snow and survive, why can’t anybody? 

“The unions have been suppressing strikes among the workers for ages because the union leaders all support Snow. Snow has his hands in the back pockets of the factory owners so it wouldn’t be beneficial for the workers to strike and shut down production for weeks at a time. Not to mention the more the workers get paid, the less he’s able to skim off the top.”

“That’s a complicated mess of power,” Peeta mumbles more to himself than to the man sitting across from him but Finnick nods anyway, his eyes gleaming in the dim restaurant.

“Unwittingly, Katniss has become a symbol of hope for the people of this city. If she can dictate her own future, why shouldn’t they? Snow recognizes this change and surely he’s heard the stories of the Girl on Fire as well.

“My guess is that he wants to extinguish the spark before it turns into a full fledged fire.” The bronze-haired man gulps down the last of his whiskey.

Peeta’s mind is reeling. It makes some sense no matter how improbable it might seem. Snow makes a living off of people’s fear. If the story of Katniss’s refusal has truly begun to spread throughout the city, it would be imperative for the mobster to stomp out the source of the flame before a rebellion can begin.

“So this has nothing to do with Marvel?” Peeta questions dumbly. Honestly, his first instinct was that this all stemmed from the henchman’s death.

“I wouldn’t say nothing,’” Finnick says, swirling the ice in the bottom of his glass. “Turns out some of the guys working down on the docks knew Marvel. He was Snow’s nephew – his sister’s only son, as a matter of fact. So it probably has something to do with Snow’s vengeance.”

“Jesus,” Peeta mutters, rubbing a hand over his face as he tries to grasp everything that Finnick is saying. “How did this all turn into such a mess? Katniss never meant for any of this to happen.”

“She is a pretty girl with a sharp mind and a strong spirit,” Finnick reasons. “People are drawn to her.”

“What are we going to do, though?” Peeta questions, dread welling up inside of him like a cresting wave waiting to drown him. “How do we fix this?”

Finnick shrugs. “I haven’t figured that part out myself. It’s all a bit much to believe when you first hear it.”

The younger man snorts, running a trembling hand over the back of his neck as he tries to see the way out of this mess. He waves over the waiter, ordering another round of drinks – this time a whiskey for himself. Peeta looses himself in thought until the waiter returns and silently sets their drinks before them.

“How do you put out a fire that’s already running rampant?” Peeta questions rhetorically. “How do you stop a rebellion already put into motion?”

Finnick lifts his glass towards the other man. “That, my friend, is the question we need to answer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for sticking with this story. Please feel free to let me know what you thought of the chapter. I adore hearing from you! Also, if you are so inclined, you can follow me on tumblr at : therebelliondies (dot) tumblr (dot) com.


	14. Chapter 14

_Katniss_

 

            The time seems to pass slower now that Peeta is gone. The first week, I wander about the house without a purpose. The week after that Cora makes a point to task me with simple errands. They keep me busy so my mind doesn’t fall to the city or Snow or how desperately I miss my family and Peeta. I have never been away from Prim for more than a day or two since she was born and I find it difficult to fall asleep without the soft lull of her breathing.

            I wake just as the horizon begins to blush pink with the sunrise, revealing the snow that drapes the surrounding land in a glittering blanket. It is beautiful. The fire has already been stoked for the morning and the room is warm even as I slide out from beneath the thick covers of my bed.

            I take my time, knowing that Cora will send me to town to do the shopping. It’s better to let the sun warm the air before I venture out. I draw a warm bath and scrub my skin until it is pink and my fingers are wrinkled from the water. The quiet of the house seems to press in upon me at this time of day before Cora rises and prepares breakfast. I realize that if it weren’t for the housework keeping her here, I would be entirely alone.

            Even after my father’s death, I was never alone. Prim was always there even while my mother was lost inside her mind. These idle moments find me guilt ridden that there is not more that I could be doing for my family. I dawdle about my room until the smell of strong coffee brewing draws me to the kitchen.

            “’Morning Miss Katniss,” Cora greets from her position in front of the stove where she flips soft, golden rounds of batter that sizzle quietly when they hit the griddle below.

            “Good morning,” I answer softly, surprised even after our long weeks together that she is able to hear my approach without looking. I imagine she’s had many years of practice honing her ears for the sound of quiet footfalls. The Mellark boys surely gave her their share of mischief, not to mention Cora’s own children whom Peeta mentioned in passing the first night we arrived at the cottage.

            “The coffee is fresh if you would like me to pour you a cup,” she offers, already pulling down two heavy mugs.

            It’s the first morning since arriving here that Cora has made coffee, typically offering freshly steeped teas instead. I have never tasted coffee before, my father having never developed a taste for it. The smells wafting from the kettle on the stove are mouthwatering though, and I readily accept the steaming beverage. Cautiously, I sip the dark contents and nearly spit the liquid back out as bitterness rushes over my tongue.

            My nose wrinkles in disgust and Cora chuckles as she pushes two small crocks my way. “You’d do best to mix some sugar and cream in that, dear. Drinking it straight is definitely an acquired taste.”

            I can’t imagine anything would make the liquid before me palatable, but I don’t wish to insult Cora in her own kitchen by refusing to finish it. I am generous as I pour thick, white cream into the mug followed by two heaping spoonfuls of sugar. To my surprise, she is correct and the coffee now glides smoothly over my tongue, sweet yet still quite earthy.

            Before I can thank her for her advice, Cora slides a plate in front of me that is piled high with hotcakes and bacon, two foods I haven’t tasted in years. She smiles softly at the way my eyes must widen and produces a third small crock filled with thick, maple syrup. I try to be dainty as I pour the expensive liquid over the steaming pile of hotcakes in front of me, but I find it difficult to restrain myself. Mother might be horrified by my manners, but I can’t remember the last time I tasted the sticky treat.

            I try not to moan when the first bite hits my tongue, but sink my teeth into my lip to hold back the sound when I fail. It’s delicious. The cakes nearly melt in my mouth and the syrup is overwhelmingly sweet.

            “I’m glad you like it, Miss,” Cora chuckles as she turns back to the large, black stove to prepare a plate for herself. “I figured you’d be needing a breakfast that will stick to your bones if you’re to face the chill out there. We got more than three inches of fresh snow overnight.”

            I shake my head, trying to recollect the last winter that produced so much precipitation. I don’t mind the snow here like I always did in the city. Here, the snow stays fresh and crisp and white even days after falling. It provides a magical backdrop for the quiet walks I take into town whenever Cora needs me to. I am much more familiar with the grey, dirty slush that normally lines the roads in the Seam the morning following any significant snowfall.

            “I don’t mind the cold,” I supply with a hint of a smile. “I like the walk to town.”

            “Heaven bless you, child,” the older woman answers, rubbing her left hand absently over the knuckles of her right. “These old bones don’t get around like they used to and the cold only makes it worse.”

            I sip at the steaming cup of coffee and sigh as the warmth heats the hollows of my belly. After all my meager attempts at cooking for myself and Prim, I find that I appreciate a good meal tenfold more than I did before. Cora never fails to provide a feast for each meal, ensuring that by spring I will be fat as a prized pig.

            I clear my plate before Cora even settles herself down to tuck in and I blush when I realize that she’s been watching me while I eat. Something about the chill of this morning has left me especially ravenous.

            “Would you like more, Katniss?” she questions, already turning back to the stove to retrieve more hotcakes. There’s somberness in her voice that isn’t normally there and I feel my cheeks flush a deeper shade of red.

            “No,” I protest, standing as she places another plate in front of me. “I assure you that I’m quite fine. If you don’t want me bursting out of the new dresses you’ve sewn me, you’d do well not to feed me so well.” I try to joke, but it falls rather flat and Cora looks at me from across the counter with a look that only a mother can give.

            “You could do with a bit more skin on those bones. A strong breeze could blow you away if you aren’t careful,” she says firmly. Not in an angry way, but in a way that makes me think she may truly care about my wellbeing. It hasn’t been the easiest path to friendship. In fact, there are times that I am sure Cora still believes I am after Peeta for his money, using his kindness for my own gain. But then there are moments like these, where she says something that is so genuinely concerned that it melts away any worry I might have that Cora will change her mind about harboring me without Mr. Mellark’s knowledge.

            I try to laugh but I struggle to push the sound pass the growing sensation of cotton in my throat. I glance away from the dark pools of her eyes.

            “I have already gained more weight than I could have imagined since arriving.” I shrug, trying to make light of Cora’s concerns.

            It’s the truth. Already the hollows between my ribs have begun to fill in and the constant stomachache that seemed to haunt me in the Seam and keep me awake at night has vanished in these last weeks.

            Still, Cora seems to have made it her personal mission to fatten me up. It’s not that I mind, her cooking makes the job easy enough, but I detest the pitying glances she sends my way when she believes I can’t see her. She probably doesn’t believe I can do a perfectly fine job of taking care of myself.

            “Then we shall just keep at it,” Cora says, nudging the second plate of food closer to me.

            The smell of the hot food is too much for me to resist. I dig in without further hesitation, stopping only when I feel as though I truly might burst with just one more bite. I stand, stretching my back out in hopes that it might provide more room inside my corset for my full belly.

            Cora produces a folded sheet of paper that lists all the supplies we will need for the next several days. I take it, making my way to the small closet near the front door to retrieve my overcoat before braving the early morning chill.

            “Try not to take too long today,” Cora says as she opens the door for me. “I have an ache in my knee that has been bothering me since yesterday afternoon. I don’t think all the snow is finished yet.”

            I look up to the clear, blue, early morning sky and chuckle. “Cora, the weather is beautiful. If it weren’t for the cold, I would plan to spend all day outdoors.”

            “My knee is never wrong, child,” she warns with a stern look.

            I nod, giving the conversation up and deciding that I will do my best to make it a quick trip into town. As I trek through the fresh layer of snow, I glance over the list. It’s not long today – only a few things that we have started to run low on and ingredients that must be for tonight’s dinner. It should not take long to gather what I need and I only plan to make a quick stop at the post office to check for news from Peeta.

            While I walk, I wonder if a letter will be waiting for me and if so what news it might contain. Over the last several weeks, Peeta has written a handful of letters, all of which were sweet and made me miss him even more than I already did, which I had believed impossible. However, there was no mention of Snow or the mob. If it weren’t for the nightmares that haunt me every night, I would almost believe I had imagined Cinna’s death all on my own. But at least twice a week, I am wrenched from my sleep, drenched in sweat, heart thundering inside my chest, still reaching for Cinna. I couldn’t protect my friend. I know that night was not a dream.

            I am certain that Peeta must be trying to protect me from what information he has gleaned since returning to the city. Certainly he must have learned something in the weeks that have passed since he departed. If I learned nothing else during our hesitant courtship, it is that Peeta is tenacious when it comes to something he wants. He won’t give up until he finds an answer.

            But what could he be hiding from me? What news is so terrible that he would think me incapable of handling it?

            Questions like these plague me during my journey into town, and by the time I arrive I am no closer to answering any of them. The streets are still sleepy when I arrive, only a few shopkeepers can be seen bustling around wagons delivering orders. A few children shriek from down the road, diving behind one another to avoid the snowballs being lobbed back and forth.

            The sight brings an involuntary smile to my lips. Prim would love to join in such a game. It is a rare site to see children playing in the snow inside the city. Many have been forced to take on the responsibility of feeding their families at too young an age. I slow my pace and linger outside of the mercantile for a moment to take in the site of their grins and the sweet tones of laughter.

            When my teeth begin to chatter from the cold, I push through the door with a jingle from the small bunch of bells tied to its frame. The pinewood scent that greets me is a familiar one that I welcome along with the warmth from the large furnace used to heat the building.

            “Good morning, Katniss!” Mrs. Wiress greets as she steps in from the back storerooms. She’s a kindly, graying woman who is always moving. So much so that it often appears as though she’s anxious for the floors to drop out from beneath her feet if she stays in one place for too long. Even now, she stills only long enough to straighten this or that before flitting off to the next thing.

            “Good morning,” I reply, watching her as she replaces a bolt of fabric that had been resting on the counter.

            “You’re out early considering the weather this morning,” she observes, nodding towards the empty street in front of the store. “What brings you to town?”

            “Cora needed a few things.” I slide the list across the counter and Wiress takes it with a bit of a frown.

            “She has you traipsing all over town in the middle of winter.” She clucks her tongue before flitting off to gather what is on the list. “It is only going to get worse. Mr. Beetee was in just yesterday and said that a bigger storm is headed our way.”

            I grin. “And how would Mr. Beetee know?”

            She waves a hand in my direction. “Oh, you know those farmers. They can always sense when there’s a storm brewing. Besides he always swears by that Farmer’s Almanac he carries with him and it says there’s to be a blizzard this month.”

            “Well then,” I chuckle. “I suppose I will just have to make this a quick run to town then. I only plan to stop at the post office before making my way back to the cottage.”

            Wiress nods, pleased that she has succeeded in her duty to warn me of the impending inclement weather. At first, she had been quite curious about me and my sudden appearance at the Mellark’s cottage. However, she was relatively easy to satisfy. For all anyone in town knows, I am a cousin staying at the cottage this winter to recover from a severe fever that overcame me during the summer. It certainly doesn’t hurt that people in this town take Cora’s word as law. Having her back up my story silenced any further questioning about it.

            “You’re sure that Cora doesn’t wish to stock up on further supplies?” she questions as she rings up the few items listed on the slip of paper. “There’s not much here to last you and who knows how long we might be snowed in once this storm hits.”

            “She wrote everything she wanted me to get,” I reply with a shrug, glancing out the window again and noting the heavy, grey clouds approaching from the west. “I suppose she knows what she’s doing.”

            Wiress smiles before wrapping up my purchases. “I suppose she does. Cora has been around these parts longer than any of us.”

            We settle into silence as Wiress ties a bit of twine around the parcels with a flourish before handing them to me. I still find it strange that it is common to use store credit in this town. The Seam did away with that practice long before I was ever born. It was too much of a risk knowing how factory workers always struggled to make ends meet. But here, simply saying the name Mellark earns a certain level of respect. No one ever questions whether or not they will be repaid by the wealthiest family in town.

            A cold wind whips down the main street just as I step outside, tugging several bits of hair from my braid and tangling them in front of my eyes. I duck my head against the biting chill and scurry across the street where the post office is just opening for the day.

            “Good morning, Rudy,” I greet, trying not to smile when the middle aged man nearly jumps out of his skin when I open the door. He always seems surprised that anyone has stopped by his office as though it is miraculous that anyone wishes to correspond with people living outside of this small village.

            “Oh!” he yelps, turning to face me while pressing his hands over the lapels of his suit coat. “Well, good morning, Katniss. Imagine seeing you on a day like this.”

            “I was already in town getting some supplies for Cora,” I explain, looking eagerly at the mailboxes lined against the wall over the man’s shoulders. “Have any letters come in since I last stopped in?”

            His eyebrows rise up his forehead until I worry they might get lost in his hairline. “Oh! Yes! I do believe one came in for you yesterday Miss Katniss.” He turns towards the long line of mail slots, muttering to himself as he taps his fingers against the metal plates that label each box with an address. “Yes! Here we are.”

            He returns carrying a letter addressed in handwriting I have come to know almost better than my own. The gentle, looping penmanship is one that I could only attribute to a man just as gentle. My heart skitters excitedly against my chest as I quickly slip the letter from Rudy’s grip.

            “Thank you, Rudy,” I say, unable this time to conceal my grin.

            He smiles in turn with a dutiful nod. “Of course, Miss Katniss. You be careful on your way home now.”

            The walk home seems to take an eternity and despite the bitter cold, I am flooded with giddy warmth at the thought of Peeta’s letter. It has been nearly a week since he last wrote and I pray this time that he will have more information regarding Snow and his vendetta against me. He has yet to truly divulge much about the situation and I have the strongest sense that he is intentionally withholding information in some strange attempt to protect me. Surely he must have learned something in all the weeks we have been apart, but he has yet to enlighten me. As much as I want to be angry with him, I know he means well, but my frustration is only mounting as I am locked away in the country cottage unable to help in any way.

            I am just stepping onto the long gravel drive that leads up to the cottage when the first snowflakes start to fall. By the time I reach the house, I am covered in the shimmering, white flakes and my teeth chatter against one another from the cold. I quickly step inside and shut the door behind me, locking out the freezing winds before brushing off my coat.

            “Katniss!” Cora says as she comes shuffling down the hallway. “I was beginning to worry you might get lost out in this snow storm. If I had known it was going to blow in so quickly I would never have sent you, dear.”

            I hand her the wrapped parcels with a nod, my body so overcome with shivers that I can’t speak. I have lived in the city all my life where the wind blows off the lake and some days it can feel like knives cutting through a person, but this storm is unlike anything I have ever felt before. The temperature took a rapid dive on my journey back from town and now my fingers are numb despite the sturdy gloves that Cora loaned me when she sent me on my first trip for supplies.

            “Oh child,” Cora exclaims, dropping the parcels to the ground and wrapping an arm around me to guide me into the living room.

            She sits me down beside a glorious fire before disappearing briefly only to return with several warm blankets. She wraps me in them until I am swaddled like a newborn and leaves once more. The heat from the fire starts to seep into my frozen skin, slowly bringing back feeling.

            My fingers still feel as though tiny needles are pricking them when I reach for Peeta’s letter where it rests in the inner pocket of my coat. The hurried clip of Cora’s heels cause me to pause when she enters the room carrying a tea tray laden with golden cookies and tea.

            “You need to drink something warm,” she orders in a tone that leaves no room for argument. “You will catch your death from that cold if we aren’t careful.”

            She pours out the rich amber liquid, adding sugar and milk, as she knows I prefer. I slip my hands from beneath the heavy wrap of blankets to take the teacup that she offers me and sip delicately. Cora makes some of the best tea I have ever tasted. She adds her own blend of spices to the brew that remind me of autumn and I cannot seem to get enough of it.

            “Peeta wrote another letter,” I say once my shivers have subsided and my belly is full of the golden, shortbread cookies that once inundated the silver tray.

            “Oh?” Cora questions, trying not to sound altogether too interested. She always tries to sound neutral when I tell her about Peeta’s letters and how he is fairing, but it’s quite easy to see through her façade. I have no doubt in my mind that she loves Peeta as one of her own. I have no idea how she managed to function before I joined her at the cottage and she spent months on end with no news from the youngest Mellark.

            “He cares about you a great deal,” she says softly after a long pause where we both stare at the crackling fire. “You must know that, dear.”

            My cheeks warm and this time it has nothing to do with the heat from the fire’s flames. “I know,” I reply. “I care about him very much as well.”

            “His mother won’t stand for it,” she warns, fingering the hem of her apron with a furrowed brow. “If she finds out, she will end everything. Adelaide Mellark won’t allow love to be the downfall of her family’s name.

            It is my turn to frown now. Peeta never spoke much of his mother in the time that we were able to spend together. I gathered that his mother wasn’t much of the gentle, nurturing type. But Cora’s voice turns bitter at the taste of the other woman’s name on her tongue, and it makes me think there is much more to the story.

            “You don’t think that perhaps she would change her mind – if she saw how happy I could make Peeta, I mean?” I question hesitantly. It feels silly to say that I am the reason for Peeta’s happiness, but he has told me this countless times – has even written it in his letters to me.

            “Heavens no!” Cora chuckles. “That woman was born without a single romantic bone in her body. The only thing she cares for is power and wealth. Pardon me for saying so, Miss Katniss, but I don’t believe you have much to offer Peeta in either of those areas.”

            My heart sinks into my stomach, wondering how on earth Peeta could ever believe that we will be together when everything and everyone seems to be working against us. Even if we can handle the situation with Snow, his mother would still stop anything from ever happening between us.

            “Peeta has never thought much of his mother’s opinions though,” Cora adds with a comforting smile. “Don’t fret, child. If he wants something, he will make it happen. That woman laid her hand on him one too many times for Peeta to ever truly respect her.”

            “What?” I demand, my eyes widening at the mention of Peeta’s mother hitting him. Though my own mother leaves much to be desired, it is unthinkable that either she or my father would ever hit me or Prim. Of course, it isn’t uncommon for parents to punish their children, but something tells me that Peeta wouldn’t hold a deserved punishment against his mother.

            Cora freezes, realizing too late what she has divulged. She sighs heavily. “I thought he would have told you about his relationship with his mother. I suppose he wished to keep it a secret so you wouldn’t think poorly of him. Adelaide Mellark punished all those boys more harshly than a mother ever should. But sweet Peeta always got the worst of it. Adelaide hoped and prayed for a girl during his pregnancy. I think when he came out a boy something inside of her died.  I don’t believe she ever forgave him for crushing her dream.”

            “She hurt him.”

            It’s more of a statement than a question as I remember the silver, puckered lines on his forearms that he claimed were burns he got on accident when he would take bread from the oven. I never stopped to find it curious that those burns would be so far up his arms. And it never occurred to me that those burns might be connected to the thin, crosshatched scars that I noticed on his back while we were at the cottage when he would put on his shirt in the early morning light.

            Cora nods somberly. “I will never know how much. He was always so quiet about it. It wasn’t until he was nine that he came to me asking if I had a salve. I convinced him to tell me what he needed it for. It was a burn as thick as my thumb across his chest. The poor boy –“ Her voice cracks and I am speechless.

            How anyone could hurt Peeta is unthinkable. He is the gentlest, kindest man I have ever met. How could his mother still be angry with him for dashing her hopes for a girl when he turned into such a wonderful person?

            We sit in silence, both too caught up in our own thoughts to continue carrying on any polite conversation. The old grandfather clock in the foyer strikes four o’clock and rouses us from the recesses of our minds.

            “Enough of this,” Cora says, standing and straightening out her skirt before clearing away the tea tray. “I still have dinner to prepare.”

            I nod, pulling the swathe of blankets more tightly around my shoulders. I suddenly feel too heavy to think about moving and climbing the stairs to my room. I reach for Peeta’s letter once again, this time opening the heavy, eggshell colored envelope.

            His handwriting is a welcome sight and a smile tugs at my lips despite the somber thoughts of all the suffering that he has endured that still wrap themselves through my mind.

 

_Dear Katniss,_

_I hope that you are continuing to enjoy your stay at the cottage. I always find that the winter snow seems to clean everything to a bright new finish. I imagine you and Cora have become closer now that you are both holed up together on the long, cold nights. I hope you find her as wonderful a woman as I do._

_The city is much unchanged since I last wrote. The winter winds are whipping off the lake this morning and it’s too bitterly cold for me to even dare think about going outdoors._

_Last week I met with our good friend Mr. Odair once again. He has been spending exorbitant amounts of time selling his goods to the higher end restaurants and household cooks of late. It seems the city has developed a keen taste for the salt-water fish that he provides._

_I also paid Delly a visit recently and I can assure you that Primrose is doing very well, if not flourishing. She has discovered the Cartwright’s library and spends her free hours reading anything she can get her hands on. Delly is quite fond of her, as I’m sure you will not find difficult to believe._

_Though things are going well here, I miss you dearly and I wait anxiously for the day we can be together once again._

_Yours,_

_Peeta_

 

            I sigh, folding up the letter before slipping it back inside its envelope. It’s much like all the other letters that Peeta has sent. Though it is wonderful to hear from him and to know Prim is fairing well, it is unbelievably frustrating. I want to know how his investigation is going into the situation with Snow. I know he is protecting me in the only way he knows how, but it is not in my nature to stay locked away and complacent.

 

_Peeta_

 

            “What is this?” Peeta questions, taking the paper from Finnick. The two men are holed away in a small pub near the edge of the Seam on a cold night late in January. They began meeting on a bi-weekly basis to exchange information regarding Snow and his mob, particularly that involving Katniss, ever since her flee from the city. So far there has been little success in discovering the source of Snow’s obsession with the young Seam girl.

            Tonight, Finnick’s eyes twinkle with a spark that Peeta has not noticed since they first began the arduous task of discovering any details about the backdoor operations and immense amount power that Snow controls in the city.

            “An article about the Girl On Fire,” Finnick replies simply before taking a long sip of his tonic. “It was in some small paper that the men down at the docks read. Sounds like a lot of papers are writing about her these days, what with her disappearance finally being noticed by the reporters and all.”

            Peeta frowns, reading quickly through the short article that talks about the young singer who was known to have stood up against Snow when he requested she work for him at his brothel. He only feels a sense of pride before something strikes him about the way the article is written.

            “They make her sound like a hero,” he murmurs, his fingers clutching tightly at the fragile paper. “Why did you bring this?”

            “I think you know the answer to that already,” Finnick replies with a shrug. “I’ve read a few papers now and they all present her the same way. She’s an icon, Peeta. She stood up to the man no one else has. If she could defy him, why can’t anyone else?”

            “No.” He shakes his head disbelievingly. “She never meant for this to happen. She never wanted to be a hero. Katniss only wanted to provide for her sister the best way she knew how. She would have worked for Snow if it had been safe to do so. She never meant to cause this.”

            “I know that.” Finnick says with a bitter smile, taking another long draw from his glass. “And you know that, but the papers see her as a martyr – especially now that she’s disappeared. She was a beautiful, talented woman who stood up to Snow. She did what every poor man in this city wishes he could. She gave them hope, Peeta – hope that perhaps things can change.”

            “That’s why Snow is after her,” Peeta whispers, his jaw slack with the shock of this discovery. “He wants to crush the girl who caused the spark of hope.

            Finnick nods, his mouth pinched in a serious frown. “And with hope often comes the first whispers of a rebellion.”

            Both men realize just how dangerous a situation Katniss has unknowingly gotten herself into.

            Over the last several months, there have been increasing amounts of unrest in the city. It started with quiet neighborhood meetings discussing the Socialists’ and their principles. But lately things have started to take to the streets. Peeta has heard of fighting in the factories – of men walking away from their posts in protest of poor wages. It is all poorly coordinated and has not gotten the workers anywhere as far as he knows, but these are things that never would have happened a year ago. Something has caused a change, a shift in the way the Seam workers are thinking. And Peeta is now beginning to believe that that something might be his Katniss.

            His stomach twists uncomfortably at the thought. If that is the case, if Katniss Everdeen has become some sort of savior to the working class, her life could be in far more danger than he has ever imagined. That would make her the idol of thousands of men and women, but it would also make her a threat to all the factory owners and their livelihood. And of course, a threat to the social system and the way factories are currently run would be a major threat to Snow’s regime since he had many businesses under his thumb.

            The thought of how determined Snow might be to eliminate that spark of hope causes his blood to run cold. He imagines the man would stop at nothing to preserve his state of power.

            “She’s safe,” Peeta adds after a long silence. “She’s hidden away where no one can hurt her. This will all blow over by the summer.”

            Finnick sighs, settling back more comfortably in his chair before speaking, “We had all best hope it does.”

 

…

 

            Peeta and FInnick part ways just before midnight. He spent much longer at the pub than he had intended, but the news that Katniss is in such grave danger over ruled any worry he had about his family questioning his whereabouts.

            He hails a hansom that is waiting outside to carry wealthy young men off to their next location of debauchery.

            “Where are ya headed, Mister?” the man questions with a heavy accent. His grooming leaves much to be desired and his clothes are tattered though clearly patched and sewn by a careful hand. Peeta wonders if this man is one of the many heartened by Katniss’s story.

            He wonders how he could have missed the story’s rise to prominence. How could he not have heard whispers about Katniss. His Katniss. She never wanted any of this. Anger twists his stomach when he thinks of how she was those many months ago. His hands can still remember how frail she was; the dips in her ribcage that wanted for any morsel of food she could find.

            “Mister?”

            Peeta realizes he has been silent in thought for too long. The cabbie looks at him with curious eyes. He probably sees men like Peeta all the time, slumming around the Seam. Who knows what awful deeds he thinks Peeta might be capable of.

            Peeta mutters the address of the Mellark mansion and the cabbie clicks his tongue at the worn, old mare to get the hansom moving. He is suddenly exhausted, overwhelmed by his helplessness when he thinks of the motions that have already been set in place without him knowing.

            How does one stop a rebellion that has already begun to grow?

            And he has no doubt that it has. Katniss is nothing if not inspiring. Her spirit is unflappable even in the face of horrific poverty. She has lived through tragedy and such grief. Peeta does not find it surprising that she has unwittingly inspired men and women in the Seam. She has a quiet strength about her and her love for her family is so fierce. Were these not the traits that Peeta fell for himself? She will stop at nothing to protect those that she loves.

            Peeta ponders how – even if – he should share tonight’s discovery with Katniss. He is sure his letters must be driving her mad. Until tonight, there has not been much for him to share. He does not wish to distress her with the news of the protests, the strikes, the revolts that seem to be moving through the city. These stories are not new to either of them, however the frequency at which they are occurring has taken a sudden upswing. Now it all makes sense. A spark has started a fire in the hearts of the city’s working class; a fire that Peeta fears will be impossible to quell.

            There are not many people out at this time of night and the ride across the city is quick. When the hansom pulls up in front of the Mellark mansion, Peeta still has no idea what to tell Katniss in his next letter. The grandfather clock in the front hall is striking half past one in the morning when Peeta lets himself through the door.

            A dim stream of light pours from the front sitting room onto the pale, marble floor of the foyer. Peeta shuts the door as quietly as he can manage, as though wary of rousing a sleeping beast. The dull click does indeed summon a beast, however this one is of a human variety.

            “Where have you been?” his mother hisses, her voice low and threatening.

            Her question weighs down on him. He is tired. So tired of this intricate dance he is forced to perform with is mother.

            “Out.” he replies, his voice even and disinterested. He wants nothing more than to fall into his bed.

            “I know _that_. Don’t you mouth off at me, boy!” Her blue eyes are cold and unforgiving like ice. “ _Where_ were you out to?”

            The threat in her tone makes a shiver slither up his spine. Somehow he has made her furious, not just angry as she is with him on any given day. He searches his mind for a reason she might be so infuriated by his absence. Normally Adelaide Mellark is only too happy to forget about her third son.

            “I was with a friend,” he replies cautiously. She need never know that the friend was Finnick and they were at a pub very close to the impoverished side of town discussing the Seam girl who has stolen his heart.

            “With a friend?” she repeats as though the words are sour on her tongue. “You think that is a reasonable excuse to have missed dinner? On a night when Glimmer Hamilton and her entire family joined us?”

            Peeta’s heart stills when he realizes what he’s done. His mother may not like him, but she tolerates his existence well enough so long as he doesn’t cause her any embarrassment. He forgot that tonight was one she had been planning for the last two months. His mother has still not given up hope that Peeta will cave under her pressure to propose and tonight was supposed to be a very strategic night of small talk and flirting.

            Ever since he returned from the country cottage all those months ago, Peeta has been careful to stay out of his mother’s way. When she chose to throw dinner parties, he acquiesced simply to avoid the arguments that would ensue if he protested.

            However, his mother seems to have taken his passive behavior for acceptance and has increasingly been forcing him to interact with Glimmer. She is still hopeful she might be able to make a match of convenience; one that would cause the Mellark name to be written about in the society section of every newspaper across the city and perhaps the country.

            “I forgot, Mother. I apologize,” he answers, his voice quiet even in the silent mansion.

            “FORGOT?” she roars, her temper finally snapping. Peeta flinches. Adelaide Mellark crosses the room in three quick strides, the final click of her heels punctuated by the crack of her hand against his cheek. “How could you forget? I have spoken of nothing else for days!” she spits out.

            Peeta blinks away the stars that flash across his vision. Pain slices through his skin and he is sure his face will be bruised by the morning. He is surprised to hear her admit she has been talking about tonight’s dinner for so long. He hasn’t paid much attention to the dinner conversation since arriving back from the country cottage. In fact, he hasn’t been able to do much other than worry about Katniss and miss her more than he thought possible.

            Her hand raises to slap him again and something tightens in his chest, something that licks between his ribs and swirls in the hollow of his belly, twisting and turning like a caged animal.

            Without a moment’s thought, his hand shoots out, his fingers wrapping tightly around his mother’s raised wrist. Instinctively, Adelaide Mellark jerks her arm, trying to release herself from his grasp. But Peeta is strong, something the woman before him has never really realized.

            “Enough, Mother,” he says, his voice low and even. His mother blinks several times, her muscles tense beneath his fingers.

            “That’s enough,” he repeats after a several moments. “I have said I’m sorry. What more is there?”

            “You are a fool!” she shouts, her voice tremulous in a way he’s never heard it before. “An idiot like your father!”

            “I am not a boy anymore,” Peeta says softly, realizing the truth of his words for the first time. The thing within his chest quivers, its heat burning his throat and threatening to burst forth. “You cannot bully me forever.”

            Adelaide Mellark’s jaw drops open and a tiny, shocked noise escapes her.

            Peeta doesn’t give her a chance to speak. He drops her wrist and backs away.

            “I won’t marry Glimmer Hamilton. That is the end of it,” he informs her. He nearly doesn’t recognize the voice as his own. The thing inside him pulses with joy, slithering through his veins and igniting electricity under his skin.

            “And if you ever raise a hand toward me again,” he adds, his words a threatening promise, “I will not be responsible for what I might do.”

            The grandfather clock ticks softly in the silence of the front hall. His mother is stunned to silence; something he cannot recall ever happening before. Peeta turns to leave the room and his mother calls after him

            “I never wanted you,” her voice shakes like a dead leaf clinging to its branch during a winter storm as she admits the truth they both know but has never been spoken. “I told your father to get rid of you the night you were born. Another boy! I prayed for a girl and you stole my chance to ever be a mother again!”

            The thing inside of Peeta burst into inferno at her words, roaring inside of him so loudly that he could hear only the sound of it pulsing through his ears.

            “I was a baby!” Peeta shouts, his voice hoarse from the emotion pouring out with the words. “How could you hate your own child? How could you blame me that you body was broken after I was born? How can you still blame me for every shortcoming you have ever had? I only wanted you to love me, Mother! I tried so hard to make you love me.”

            The thing thrashing inside him, he realizes now, is all the anger he has kept caged deep inside of him since he was just a child. It is the resentment that his mother never truly loved him, still doesn’t love him. It’s the bitterness that his father could never find a way to protect him from her.

            “How could I love my greatest disappointment?” she demands, her words barely above a whisper.

            They hit their mark though. He may be physically stronger than the woman standing across from him, but she will always know just what to say to tear his soul to shreds. Peeta closes his eyes against the pain of it. He has never given up hope that one day she might learn to care for him even though he wasn’t the daughter she so desired. Tonight that tiny ember of hope he had managed to keep burning is squashed beneath her foot as she quietly walks from the room.

            He doesn’t know how long he stands there alone before hand lands on his shoulder.

            “Peet.” Axel’s voice is just above a whisper. “She doesn’t mean it.”

            “Yes, she does.” Peeta argues, though all of the strength has gone from him. The fire of anger is put out. When he looks up, he is disgusted by the look of pity that fills his brother’s eyes. “It’s okay. We all knew that was how she felt.”

            Axel shakes his head. “But it’s not right – what she said. You are a good man, Peeta.”

            “It doesn’t matter,” Peeta mutters stepping away from his brother. “I’m tired. I need to go to sleep.”

            His feet feel like lead as he climbs the grand staircase. The rage he felt only moments ago took all the life inside him with it and what is left behind is his exhausted skeleton. Never before has he felt such anger or realized he was capable of it. He hopes he might never feel it again.

            He strips from his clothing and doesn’t bother to dress in his nightclothes before sliding beneath the heavy covers of his bed. As he sinks into the warm embrace of sleep, his mind wanders to a single person; one who is able to calm the burns the anger created inside of him. It is Katniss who brings comfort to him, or his memory of her anyway. Her scent soothes his breath. Her hair is a feather’s touch against his skin. Her smile brings his heart back to life.

            He wishes she were with him now, but her memory will have to suffice. Tomorrow he shall write her a letter and tell her what he has learned. They will be in this together no matter what it may come to with Snow. He promised her that. She is his family now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! If you're reading this, I want to thank you. Thank you for reading my story. Thank you for your patience in waiting for this chapter. I know it has been ages (seriously it's been forever) since I last published anything. I've been going dealing with a lot in my personal life and I lost the will to write there for a while. It's back now and I'm hoping it's here to stay for a while!
> 
> Please let me know what you thought! I cherish your comments even when I don't have time to reply to them all individually. I no longer have a beta so I apologize for any mistakes. I wanted to get this chapter out because I know you've waited too long already.
> 
> As always, you can still follow me on tumblr at: therebelliondies


End file.
